


The Maui Two-Step

by leonidaslion



Series: Maui [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humor, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-06
Updated: 2011-02-06
Packaged: 2017-10-15 11:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> Maui</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a few years after Dean's time is up. Sam obviously managed to save him, cause he's still alive and kicking, but I don't really go into the mechanics of how. Cause really, it ain't all that integral to the romantic comedy thing I've got going on here. Hee!

“I changed my mind,” Dean said suddenly, backtracking and almost knocking over a silver-haired grandmother in his haste to make an escape.

Sam latched onto his arm and pulled him forward again. “Sorry about him, ma’am.”

The grandmother just nodded. “Oh, that’s fine, dear. Nervous flier is he?”

“A little, yeah. I keep trying to tell him that more people die in car crashes than on planes, but …”

“Oh, I know: you can’t solve something like that with statistics. I have a grandson with the same problem, poor boy. He tried one of those agencies, but it didn’t work for him.”

Sam looked way too interested in that. “Fear management classes? You don’t remember the name of the company, do you? Cause Dean—”

“Is _right here_. So stop talking about me like I’m two.”

The grandmother chuckled and detoured around them toward the stewardess who was accepting tickets. “Good luck,” she murmured as she passed Sam, giving him an encouraging pat on the arm.

“Thanks.” Sam grinned after her, and then blinked at the clock above the desk. “Hey, man, come on: we’ve got about two minutes before they shut the gate and we officially miss the flight.” He started forward, hand still clamped around Dean’s bicep, and Dean pulled out of his grip.

“I _told_ you: I changed my mind. You go. I’ll see you back here in a few days.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed in exasperation. “Dean, we already RSVPed.”

“So? You can eat my steak: I won’t mind. Promise.”

“Stop being stupid.” Sam reached for him again.

“I’m serious,” Dean hissed, dodging out of reach. “She doesn’t want to see _me_ anyway.”

“Of course she does,” Sam insisted, feinting left and then getting hold of him when he sidestepped right. “If she didn’t want to see you, Rebecca wouldn’t have put your name on the invitation.”

“She’s _your_ friend. You go.”

“We’re both going,” Sam said firmly. “Look, the plane’s not gonna crash—”

“Who said it was?” Dean snapped, hating the way his heart had just picked up speed.

Sam rolled his eyes and started to drag Dean toward the flight attendant, who was watching them with amusement. Nosy bitch. Dean tried to pry his brother’s fingers apart, but Sam had been eating his Wheaties and nothing was budging.

“Sam! Sam, come on,” he pleaded.

“You’re getting on the plane, and if you stop being such a bitch about it, then I’ll let you have radio control for the next sixth months.”

“I have that anyway,” Dean insisted, digging his heels in and slowing their progress.

Sam’s breath huffed out in annoyance. “Fine. I won’t complain about it, then. And … and I’ll wash the Impala.”

Oh, now _that_ had possibilities. Dean would cut his own tongue out before saying anything, but Sam looked pretty good wet down.

“One year without complaining and you wax her too,” he bargained.

“I’ll wax the car, but you’re only getting six months, and that’s final.”

Okay, Dean could roll with that. It wasn’t like he _really_ thought that the plane was going to crash. But when he cast another glance out the window, he couldn’t help asking, “There aren’t any demons on the passenger manifest, are there?”

Sam’s hand tightened in warning and then his smile was beaming out at the flight attendant as he passed her their boarding passes. “Hey,” he said.

“Nervous flyer?” the attendant guessed, looking at Dean.

“I, uh, just don’t like planes,” he mumbled. She was pretty hot up close, and looking at him like he was five years old. Man, he felt like a jackass.

“Ask for Shelly once you’re airborne,” the attendant advised. “She makes a mean gin and tonic. Should help calm your stomach a bit.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that, thanks.”

Then Sam was steering him down the boarding tunnel that always reminded Dean of a really long throat. Like the damned plane was about to swallow them alive. This whole thing was the Twilight Zone’s fault: that stupid episode with Captain Kirk had scared the shit out of him when he was kid. Or maybe it was Rebecca’s fault for putting him in this situation in the first place. Yeah, that sounded about right.

Who the hell got married on a fucking island, anyway?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Okay, so Maui wasn’t completely horrible. The weather was gorgeous: warm enough that Dean had tossed his jacket into the backseat of the rental car _(and how Sam had scored them a convertible, he had no clue)_ , but not hot enough for his t-shirt to stick to his back during the three hour drive from Kahului to Hana. The scenery wasn’t half-bad either, once Dean had finished calming down from his imprisonment in that flying tin can. The road—the Hana Highway, Sam called it—twisted around the coastline through greenery that reminded Dean of _Anaconda_ or _Fern Gully (what? Christa was_ hot).

Once, while Sam drove the car across a one-lane bridge, which was suspended at least 80 feet off the ground, Dean glanced down into the valley to see trees that looked like they were on fire—the things were literally covered with flame-colored flowers. Not ten minutes after that, Sam was pointing out a waterfall to their right where tiny, red birds swooped through the spray. A moment later, the ground to their left fell away as the highway climbed upward, and Dean could see the ocean: wide and Curacao blue beyond forbidding volcanic rocks.

Maybe Rebecca wasn’t completely insane for wanting to get married here.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Sam asked, grinning.

Dean shrugged, turning away from the open happiness on his brother’s face to watch the jungle to their right. “Better than Detroit in November.”

Sam’s laugh sent a shiver of want down his spine. “Dude, _anywhere’s_ better than Detroit in November! Come on, you can’t tell me that you haven’t noticed how gorgeous it is here.”

“It’s not bad.”

Sam stretched his arm across the seat behind Dean’s shoulders and Dean resisted the urge to lean back. “Wait until you see the place we’re staying; Rebecca e-mailed me pictures. It’s awesome.”

The car went over a bump in the road and Sam’s arm slipped forward a little so that it was resting lightly across Dean’s shoulders. Dean stared intently at the side of the road and waited for Sam to realize what had happened and move his arm. Sam, however, seemed too busy navigating the sudden series of turns they’d come upon to notice that his fingers were trailing over Dean’s bicep instead of the seatback.

By the time the road evened out again, Dean was in hell. Sam’s fingers had started tapping lightly against his skin: a motion that was all too easy to imagine as deliberate. The weight of his brother’s arm against his shoulders and the back of his neck was doing unpleasant things to Dean's stomach. Any second now that stupid, happy warmth in his gut was gonna make him lean over and drag Sam into a kiss.

And that’d be a great idea when Sam, a) was driving on the most bendy road ever, and b) had no fucking clue that Dean wanted to get in his pants. He’d drive them over the side of the cliff in a heartbeat.

Still, Dean wasn’t sure if he was relieved or annoyed when Sam finally glanced over at him again and, with a surprised "oops", took his arm back.

“Sorry, man,” Sam apologized. “You should have said something.” Dean could practically hear the blush in his brother’s voice.

“Huh?” he said innocently, finally tearing his gaze away from the side of the road.

“My arm,” Sam clarified, keeping the offending appendage firmly on the wheel.

“What about it?” Dean made himself say, and when Sam gave him a disbelieving look, he added, “Sorry, I was counting.”

Sam’s expression instantly cleared: he remembered the game that they’d played during the long hours on the road when they were kids. “What’re we looking for?” he asked, keeping half an eye on the road while scanning the jungle on Dean’s side.

“Birds,” Dean improvised as he caught sight of a red wing out of the corner of his vision.

“Start over?” Sam offered. “First one to fifty wins?”

“I’m not gonna take your money, man.”

“Who says you’ll win?”

“I’m not the one driving on this pretzel road.”

Sam glanced at him. “How about we play for something else, then?”

“Like what?” Dean asked grudgingly. He wished that he had thought of another excuse: one that didn’t involve pulling Sam’s attention from what he was doing. Not that he was nervous or anything, but Sam … well, Sam had a pretty bad track record with cars. “I take that back; I don’t want to play. Just keep your eyes on the road.”

“I’m not gonna crash, Dean,” Sam protested, and then Dean’s heart jack hammered as the car swerved from one side of the road to the other and back again. His hands clawed into the seat and it took him a moment to realize that Sam was laughing next to him.

“You asshole," he growled. "Pull over.”

“No.”

“Pull over; I’m driving.”

“Nope. I won the coin toss fair and square, man.” Sam offered him an amused grin. “If you’re a good boy, though, I’ll let you drive on the way back.”

Dean scowled at him. “I can kill you in your sleep, you know.”

“You can try,” Sam said lightly, and sped them into the next curve. After a moment, he added, “Loser has to do whatever the winner says while we’re here.”

Dean was going to tell Sam to drop it and pay attention to the road before he got them both killed. But when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “Define ‘whatever’.”

“What, you need me to draw a map for you?”

“Just don’t want you to come crying to me when you realize that you’re gonna be spending Rebecca’s wedding as my bitch.”

“Bitch,” Sam mused. “Is that a technical term?”

“Blow me.”

Sam smirked. “You haven’t won yet, Dean.”

Dean’s stomach fell out of the car and was dragged around another hairpin turn behind them. _He’s just messing with you, Winchester,_ he told himself, but he couldn’t manage to shut his goddamned libido down until Sam was up to fourteen.

If he lost this stupid bet, it so wasn’t his fault.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“This is us,” Sam announced as he pulled up in front of a low, plantation-style building.

Dean glanced at the ocean, which was less than a football stadium away from the … “What the hell is it, anyway?” he grumbled.

Opening the brochure he’d picked up from the front desk, Sam read, “Please enjoy your stay in Hotel Hana-Maui’s Superior Ocean Front Sea Ranch Cottage.”

“A _cottage_? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Looks nice.” As Sam tossed the brochure into the backseat, his smile widened into a smirk. “Why don’t you get the bags while I check the place out?”

It wasn’t a request.

Stupid Sam with his stupid smile and his stupid distracting stripping in the goddamn car. Yeah, it had warmed up significantly since they left the airport, but _Dean_ wasn’t running around half-naked, was he? And Sam had almost driven them into a tree getting his shirt off in the first place.

Grumbling to himself under his breath, Dean went around to the trunk and got their bags. Why Sam thought that they needed so much stuff for three days, he didn’t know. He did feel better as soon as he picked up his duffel, though. He wasn’t comfortable walking around without some kind of insurance against trouble.

Sam had vetoed the gun idea, claiming that airport security wasn’t going to let shit like that past even in checked luggage, but Dean had wrapped up a few of his favorite knives and stuffed them in his own bag. If anyone asked, he could always say that they were gifts for the happy couple.

As he trudged up the few steps toward their home for the next few days, he decided that if he never went weaponless again, it would be too soon. Maybe he could convince Sam to take a boat back. That had the bonus of not involving an airplane.

Then he shoved his way past the door and all thoughts of the return trip vanished in a panicked, _Oh. My. God._

The inside of the place was really nice, just like Sam had said it would be: with a living room area and a kitchen and amusing Hawaii kitsch all over. And there was a bed. ‘A’ as in singular. As in Sam sprawled out only a foot away, with his t-shirt _(if he ever put one back on)_ rucked up and those lazy morning smiles and no way was this happening.

There was a reason why Dean hadn’t shared a bed with his brother since some switch inside of him had gotten flipped and he was stuck staring at Sam like a lovesick girl. He’d deny it to his grave, but he knew that he cuddled in his sleep. Even if Cassie hadn’t told him, he would have been able to figure it out with the way he kept waking up wrapped around her. He’d probably done it with Sam when they were younger, too, but that was Before. It was girly, but totally kosher.

Dean figured that they’d be leaving kosher on the other side of the fucking planet if he woke up with his brother in his arms and a case of morning wood.

He inched further inside, looking around for Sam. This had to be some kind of mistake. Obviously they’d gotten the wrong building _(he was_ not _calling it a cottage, no matter what that smarmy brochure said)_. Sam was probably too busy being a ginormous dork to notice the problem. That was okay: Dean would find him and point it out and they’d fix the mix-up. Everything was fine.

“Sam?” he called.

Sam pounded back into the room from the veranda doors leading out to what looked like some kind of porch with a grin plastered on his face. “Hey, man!” he called. “There’s a Jacuzzi out here!”

“Yeah, great. Only this isn’t our room.” He gestured to the bed with his arms still full of the bags. “There’s only one bed. They must’ve made a mistake.”

Sam didn’t so much as glance at the really big and soft-looking problem. Just came toward Dean and grabbed his own duffel. “It’s not a mistake,” he said as he tossed the bag down on one of the chairs and started rummaging through it. “They only have a limited number of two-bed cottages, and Rebecca asked if we’d mind sharing. Thought it’d be less awkward than putting two strangers in here together.”

 _No, not really,_ Dean thought wildly, looking for some kind of excuse as to why they had to go back to California right the fuck now.

At his continued silence, Sam finally glanced back at him. “It’s okay, right? Dean?”

“Sure. Um. I can just sleep on the couch.” It didn’t really look long enough, but it had to be better than accidentally groping his brother in his sleep.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Sam told him, emerging from his bag with a black pair of swim trunks. “The bed’s more than big enough. And I think we’re both old enough not to steal the covers.”

“I, uh,” Dean responded eloquently.

Sam shot a blinding grin over his shoulder on his way to the bathroom. “Don’t worry; I promise I won’t molest you in your sleep.”

All the spit in Dean’s mouth evaporated, leaving him dry-mouthed and hard and clutching the bags against his chest like a shield. He still hadn’t moved when Sam emerged from the bathroom a minute later wearing his trunks and nothing else.

“Come on, man,” Sam said, tossing his jeans and boxers onto the bed. “Ocean’s right out back.”

“I, uh, I’m kinda tired,” Dean hedged as he inched toward the bathroom.

Rolling his eyes, Sam followed him and pulled the bags out of his arms to drop them on the floor in a tumble. “You can sleep later,” he said, locating Dean’s bag and opening it. “You did bring your swi—what the hell is this?”

Sam held up a bulky bundle that had been wrapped in newspaper and tied with a strip of yarn.

“Um. Wedding present?” Dean tried, reaching for the bundle.

Sam jerked it out of reach, scowling. “I can’t believe you. This is supposed to be a vacation! That means no jobs, no guns, and no _knives_!” He shook the bundle meaningfully.

“I know that! They’re just in case.”

“In case of _what_? Possessed lei?” Sam snapped, and then he grimaced, squeezing the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “You know what? Don’t bother trying to answer that. This is my fault: I should’ve known you couldn’t leave it alone.” He felt around inside Dean’s bag for any further surprises and then kicked it toward him. “Get your trunks out. We’re going swimming. And you’re not going to touch these—” another shake of the bundle “—until we’re back in California.”

“Like hell I’m not!”

Sam raised one eyebrow. “You welching on our bet, _bitch_?” he asked.

“What? No, I’m not—I don’t—damn it!”

Sam had the nerve to smirk. “Yeah, you might want to think things through a little more thoroughly next time you think I’m an easy mark.” While Dean glared at him with his hands fisted impotently, Sam went over and shoved the bundle of knives into his own bag. “Now come on: you’ve got two minutes to get changed … that is, unless you want to spend the rest of the day shopping for some new shirts.”

“You wouldn’t,” Dean whispered, feeling the blood drain from his face.

Sam obviously sensed victory because his smile only widened. “Maybe we should do that anyway. I mean, wearing Hawaiian shirts in Hawaii must be some kind of rule or—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” Dean said quickly, and bent to paw through his duffel.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sam! Dean! I’m so glad you two could make it!” Rebecca pulled Sam into a tight hug first and then, to Dean’s surprise, she reached for him.

As he hugged her back, his lips turned up in a smile and the knot in his chest loosened. Looked like she really was over that whole ‘a skinwalker wearing your face tried to kill me’ thing.

“You kidding?” he said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She winked at him as she pulled back. “So what did Sam have to promise you to get you on the plane?”

Dean shot a disgruntled look at his grinning brother. Didn’t Sam understand the concept of discretion?

“Couple of blowjobs,” Sam said, and Dean choked on the breath he’d been about to take. Then Sam’s eyes shifted from Dean to Rebecca and his smile widened. “You won’t mind if he borrows a few of your bridesmaids, do you?”

Rebecca snorted laughter and slapped Sam on the arm. “Hey, what kind of operation do you think we’re running here, buddy?”

“Only the best,” Sam said, and then: “Seriously, it’s good to see you so happy. You deserve it. And thanks for inviting us.”

“You two are the reason I’m still alive to do this: it was the least I could do. I’m just glad that you decided to take me up on the extended stay.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What?”

Sam shifted nervously next to him.

Glancing between the two of them, Rebecca said slowly, “Well, Sam was mentioning how you never get to take vacations, so I offered to reserve your cottage for a few weeks instead of three days like everyone else.”

“A few _weeks_?” Dean spluttered.

“Maybe I should give you two a few minutes,” Rebecca murmured, and then slipped away.

Dean didn’t really notice because he was busy grabbing his brother by the tie and yanking him out of the dining room. When they had more privacy, he rounded on him and growled, “ _Weeks?_ As in plural? What the hell happened to ‘it’s only for 3 days’?”

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said, readjusting his tie. “We never get to take vacations. And we’re already here. What’s the difference between three days and three weeks?”

“We have a _job_ to do, or are you forgetting that?”

“I’m not forgetting anything. Look, just three years ago you were the one asking me to take some time off.”

That was a low blow, even for Sam. “That was different,” Dean said, stiffening.

“Why? Because you thought I was gonna pull an Anakin on you?”

“No, because you were strolling around with a big fucking target on your back and shouting for that yellow-eyed son of a bitch to come get you!”

“Yeah, well, he’s dead, Dean. He’s dead and we’re both alive, and we deserve this. _You_ deserve this.” Sam fixed him with a pleading gaze. “It’s just three weeks. And I— _we_ —need to unwind for a bit.”

Frowning, Dean studied his brother’s face. Sam certainly had been a whole lot more relaxed since they got here, even if he was more frustrating than ever. Maybe he did need a vacation. And really, if there was even a possibility that he did, Dean knew that his own decision was a foregone conclusion.

Even if Sam was a sneaky, lying asshole.

“Fine,” Dean grunted, and the relieved smile on his brother’s face immediately made his own lips twitch in response. He fought down the impulse and added, “But I’m not spending three weeks as your lapdog. You get three days, and then all bets are off.”

“One week,” Sam bargained, grinning like he knew he had Dean where he wanted him. “And you should be glad I’m letting you off that easily. We did agree on ‘while we’re here’, remember? I never specified how long that was gonna be.”

“That’s because you’re an asshole,” Dean grumbled. As Sam just watched him smugly, he shrugged and conceded, “Okay, one week. But I’m not wearing one of those stupid shirts, and I want my knives back.”

“You’re really paranoid, you know that?” Sam said, shaking his head. But he didn’t argue, so Dean figured they had an agreement.

“Better paranoid than eviscerated by a ghoul, or whatever they have here,” he muttered, and then headed back out to the dining room to scope out the bridesmaids Sam had mentioned. If he was going to be sharing a bed with his brother for three fucking _(no, not fucking: fucking is absolutely out of the question)_ weeks, he was gonna need to blow off some steam first.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Her name was Laurie and Dean was In There. They’d been chatting at the bar for the past two hours, and she seemed more than happy when he edged his stool closer to hers. He was leaning in for the kill with the question— _your place or mine_ —on his lips when Sam fell in his lap. Literally.

“What the hell, Sammy?” Dean demanded, hauling his brother up as quickly as possible. Luckily, when Sam raised his eyes they were glassy, which meant he was completely wasted. No way he had noticed Dean’s immediate reaction to having all two-hundred pounds of his brother drop on top of his dick.

“Dean!” Sam said happily, patting his cheek. Dean resisted the urge to groan. Great, Sam was at his happy, ‘I’m in love with everyone’, extremely _touchy_ stage of drunkenness. Any minute now there was going to be karaoke.

Dean had no one to blame for this but himself. If he’d been keeping an eye on Sam, he could have headed this off at the pass. Tonight, though, he’d been doing his best to ignore his brother, all too aware of the fact that he was going to be spending the next three weeks driving himself crazy in order to keep his hands to himself.

“How much did you have?” Dean asked, trying to gauge the damage. Sam just grinned and pressed himself closer, all muscles and absent grin and soft hair brushing against Dean’s cheek as he dropped his head down onto Dean’s shoulder.

Rolling his head to the side, he announced, “I’m Sam.”

Okaaaay. Dean was about to suggest a hospital and a stomach pump when he realized that Sam wasn’t talking to him, but introducing himself to Laurie, who was watching them both with amusement.

“Laurie Castle,” she said.

“This is Dean,” Sam added brightly. “He’s my brother. I love him.”

Laurie was smiling at Sam encouragingly, like she thought this was _cute_ , and Sam was inspired to add, “Dean loves me too. Even if he’s too chicken to come out and say it.”

Dean bit back a grimace at that—Sam didn’t know the half of it, and if Laurie smiled any wider, her jaw was gonna come off—and then carefully stilled as he felt Sam’s arm slip around his waist, fingers curling over his belt for support. Sam’s thumb rubbed higher, sliding over the edge of Dean’s jeans and against his bare skin.

 _Bobby in a speedo,_ Dean thought, pressing his eyes shut. _That ghoul we wasted last week … Paris Hilton …_

Sam snuggled his face closer, turning his head so that his breath was ghosting over Dean’s throat. Dean rolled his shoulders as he tried desperately to ignore his cock’s rising interest in the proceedings. Sam raised his head with the motion, brushing his nose along Dean’s cheek. His lips caught on the corner of Dean’s jaw and sent tiny ripples of heat straight down to his stiffening dick.

Okay, this officially sucked.

“I’m drunk,” Sam whispered in a loud voice.

“No kidding,” Dean answered dryly, maneuvering so that his crotch wasn’t in danger of rubbing up against his brother’s hip. When Sam stumbled as his support shifted away, Dean took the opportunity to peel his brother's hand off of his waist.

“Wow, he’s really gone, isn’t he?” Laurie giggled.

Dean bit back on a sarcastic remark as he focused on her again. “Yeah. Look, sweetheart, I’m really sorry to cut this short, but I think I should get the boy wonder here back to the room.”

“Robin is totally gay for Batman,” Sam proclaimed, dropping his head back onto Dean’s shoulder.

“O-kaaaay,” Dean muttered under his breath. Sam’s head was a strange and freaky place. He shrugged his brother off again and fixed Laurie with his best charming grin. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Laurie said, trailing one manicured nail along her glass and leaning forward so that Dean got a really nice view of her, uh, assets. “We can pick up where we left off.”

Sam went stiff against Dean’s side for some reason, fingers clutching at his shirt, and then before Dean could ask what the hell was wrong his little brother started pulling him backwards toward the door. You’d think that Sam would be easier to manhandle when he was this wasted, but it was more like trying to wrestle a yeti. Only with less fur.

“See you tomorrow!” Dean called as Sam dragged him backwards out of the room. Once in the hall, Sam’s grip loosened enough for Dean to turn around and face forward. Good thing, too, because Sam chose that moment to pitch sideways and Dean had to haul him back up. Gritting his teeth, he looped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and didn’t try to dislodge the arm Sam slung around his waist in return. Right now he was too busy trying to keep them both upright to worry about inappropriate responses to having Sam’s hand that close to his junk.

Walking with small, staggering steps, they managed to make it most of the way without any problem. They were actually in sight of their front door when Sam made a strange gurgling noise and stopped. Recognizing the sound, Dean tilted his brother sideways and then held him steady while he puked into the bushes at the side of the walk.

“I don’t feel so good,” Sam muttered when he was done.

“Dude, you’re cut off for the rest of the week,” Dean grunted, getting them moving again. “Why the hell did you drink so much, anyway? That’s not like you, man.”

Instead of answering, Sam came back with: “Were you gonna sleep with her?”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“You were,” Sam continued in an accusing tone. “You were gonna—even though you—and I thought I could—but you don’t even …” He trailed off, staring doubtfully at the short step up to their front door.

“You do know that you’re making absolutely zero sense, right?” Dean asked, pulling his brother up onto the porch and catching Sam when he tripped over the step.

“You and me—” Sam panted, hanging on Dean like a seasick monkey. “—want—don’t leave me alone—promise—promise you won’t—”

Aaaaand on to the maudlin rambling. Dean loved this part. Really, he did. At least the kid wasn’t asking Dean to kill him this time. “Not going anywhere, Sammy,” he sighed, maneuvering them through the door.

“Not _tonight_ ,” Sam said petulantly.

“Hey, man. Seriously, you can’t get rid of me.” Dean pulled him across the room and dropped him onto the bed. “I wouldn’t even let you die in peace, remember?”

He started to step back and Sam lurched up after him, pulling him forward. “Not gonna—can’t let you anymore—stop you—mine—can’t—can’t have you—”

Geez, Sam was a needy drunk tonight. And really clingy. “Okay,” Dean said, trying to peel himself free. “You’ve gotta get some sleep, man.”

“Dean—I need—I want—”

Those oversized paws fumbled at Dean’s face briefly before latching together behind his neck, dragging him closer. Dean dropped one hand onto the bed to keep from falling on top of his brother and used the other to try to unlock Sam’s hands.

“Sam, come on, man. I gotta go shut the door.”

“Dean,” Sam mumbled, and then went utterly slack as he passed out.

Dean disentangled himself, ignoring the insistent throbbing from his cock, and then dragged Sam up into a more comfortable position on the bed, turning him over on his stomach just in case they had a repeat of Mt. Sammy. Then, shaking his head, he went back to the door and pushed it shut.

What the hell had gotten into Sam tonight? He never drank like this: at least not that Dean knew of. Was it something about being back with all his college friends again?

When Dean glanced back at his brother, Sam had shifted and lay sprawled across the entire bed. His head was twisted to one side and his mouth was hanging open, which meant he was gonna wake up in a puddle of drool.

He still looked completely fuckable.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dean headed for the couch. This vacation was going to kill him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Unsurprisingly, Dean was up before his brother the next morning. He bargained with one of the wait staff at the resort's restaurant for a raw egg and a bottle of whiskey and was back by Sam's side by the time his brother cracked his eyes.

Sam immediately groaned at all the light streaming in through the numerous windows in the place. “Turn off the light,” he insisted, pressing his face into the mattress.

“Sorry, man. I’m awesome, but not even I can block out the sun. Here.” He held out a glass with the whiskey and the egg in it. “Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

Sam twisted his head up so that he could regard the glass with one bleary eye. “If that’s what I think it is, I’ll pass.”

Dean continued to hold it out. “Works, doesn’t it?” he pointed out.

“You ever heard the saying ‘the cure is worse than the disease’?” Sam asked. “Now fuck off.”

“Uh, uh.” Dean grinned. “Wedding’s in—” he checked his watch “—one hour.”

Sam bolted upright at that, and then winced, putting both hands to his head. He looked a little green around the gills, too. Dean eyed him warily.

“You gonna hurl?”

“No,” Sam muttered, and then pushed off the bed and sprinted for the bathroom.

Dean grimaced in sympathy at the sound of Sam tossing his few remaining cookies. When it was quiet again, he headed into the bathroom and found Sam draped over the toilet, head resting on the cool porcelain.

“Here,” he said, offering the glass again.

Sam gave him a weak glare in return.

“I know it’s foul, man, but it works. Unless you want to spend Rebecca’s wedding puking in the aisle.”

Sam continued to scowl, but he took the glass. Wavering slightly, he pinched his nose with one hand and tossed it back. Then immediately dropped the glass and clutched at the toilet again, fighting down the impulse to bring the egg and whiskey back up.

“Jesus, that tasted even worse than last time,” he groaned.

“Pussying out in your old age?”

Sam slowly held up one hand and gave him the finger. Then, staring down at the floor while Dean rinsed the glass out in the sink, he said, “Um, Dean?”

“Hm.”

“Did I—last night, did I—”

Dean chuckled. “Oh, you owe me big.” He shook his head. “There I was at the bar, getting up close and personal with this sweet little number. Nice rack, even better caboose, and really fucking interested. But no: I had to drag your wasted ass back here.”

“Sorry.”

Repenting a little at the subdued tone of Sam’s voice, Dean shrugged. “S’okay. We’re meeting up today. Just keep from drinking your weight in shots again and we’re good. You can have the bathroom,” he added, heading for the door. “I already showered.”

“So I didn’t, you know, say anything?”

Dean paused in the doorway and thought of Sam’s drunken groping: of his desperation and fear that Dean was going to leave him for some reason. Then he shoved the memory away and grinned. If Sam had been drinking last night to get away from some kind of abandonment issue he was having, now wasn’t the time to deal with it.

“Aside from ‘Dean is super awesome and the best brother ever?’” he asked. “Not really, no. Better hurry, though: now we only have forty five minutes, and I’m not gonna be the one who explains to Rebecca’s fiancé why we’re holding things up.”

Man had been a fucking giant—bigger than Sam, even—and he looked like he could be a linebacker for the Cowboys. Sam apparently remembered meeting him as well, because he blanched and started pulling his shirt off. Dean hastily backed out of the room and shut the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam looked really good in a tux. Like, James Bond good. It was apparently even enough to conquer his embarrassing behavior the night before because as soon as they got to the reception, he’d been surrounded by a crowd of smiling girls. Dean stirred his drink moodily as he watched his brother dance with a petite thing that barely came up to his sternum.

“…you?”

Oh, hell. That had been a question, hadn’t it? Dean pulled his eyes away from the dance floor and looked back at Laurie, who was regarding him with exasperation. He considered trying to bluff his way through this and then discarded the idea. The expression in her eyes told him that she already knew his attention had been elsewhere.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he said, tilting his body toward her across the table in an attempt to make up for his slip. “What did you say again?”

“I _said_ , ‘You’re not even listening to me, are you?’” Laurie repeated.

“Uh.”

She sighed. “What is it? Your brother?”

Dean started guiltily before he realized that there was no way she could know. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“You’ve been staring at him all afternoon. Did something happen last night when you took him home?” She hesitated and then said, “You guys have a fight or something?”

“Just trying to make sure he doesn’t get his fool ass drunk again.”

Laurie’s eyes brightened with comprehension and an instant later Dean felt the brush of her bare foot against his calf. She must have slipped her shoe off underneath the table. “Maybe,” she breathed, sliding her foot up the inside of his leg, “We should cut him off at the pass.”

Apparently Dean’s dick wasn’t completely obsessed with Sam because it gave a twitch of interest. “What, now?” he asked, surprised.

“My roommate’s busy,” she said, gesturing toward a brunette who was deep in conversation with a silver-haired woman. “And even if he decides to leave right this second, it’d take your brother at least an hour to get away from his fan club.”

Glumly, Dean had to concede that was true. Looked like he had two options here: either stay to mope around and watch what looked like every single woman in the wedding party _(most of whom had been making eyes at_ Dean _last night)_ drape themselves over his brother, or slip away for a little T and A. Yeah. Really tough decision there.

He forced a grin on his face and then stood up. “Your place or mine?”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean had his hand up her shirt when it started to go wrong. One minute he was groping a firm breast, and then next he was seeing Sam’s crestfallen face. Laurie tugged gently on his hair and asked, “Something wrong?”

He blinked, shaking off the image. “Yeah, you’ve got way too many clothes on,” he answered, stripping off her shirt.

Laurie giggled and returned the favor before licking a slow path up his chest. As she paused at one nipple, it happened again. Suddenly, all that Dean could think about was Sam looking for him at the reception and getting more and more anxious when he couldn’t find him.

 _Don’t be stupid, Winchester,_ he told himself, shaking it off again. _If he even notices you’re missing, which he won’t, then he’ll figure out exactly where you went in about ten seconds._

Which was true, but damned if it didn’t make him feel even worse.

“Dean?”

Oh yeah, he was in the middle of something, wasn’t he? He pushed Laurie back against the bed and dropped his head to mouth at her breast, resolutely not thinking about his little brother. He dipped one hand underneath her skirt and certainly wasn’t wondering if Sam had missed him yet. Wasn’t hearing Sam’s voice demanding that Dean promise he won’t leave instead of Laurie’s moans and pants. Laurie’s hand rubbed at his cock through his jeans, and it was all wrong: too small and not strong enough.

 _‘I love him. Dean loves me too. Even if he’s too chicken to come out and say it.’_

Oh, for crying out loud …

Dean groaned and pulled back. “I’m sorry, I can’t,” he panted.

It took a few moments for that to get through to her, and then she frowned at him. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not you, I just—look, I’m kind of, uh, in love with someone else.”

She stared at him for a full ten seconds before rolling her eyes. “So?” As she reached for him again, he edged further away.

“I can’t, Laurie,” he repeated. Silently, he cursed Sam to a thousand and one bloody, painful deaths.

“Does she love you back?”

Oh, how to respond to that one? Dean figured the wisest route was to keep his mouth shut.

Laurie inched closer but didn’t try to touch him. “I’m going to take that as a ‘no.’ Look, Dean, if you think this—” she gestured between them “—is unfair to me, then I’ve gotta tell you it’s not. I’m just looking for a little fun. You _do_ want to have fun, don’t you?” She trailed one hand down her own body.

“God, yes,” Dean breathed, watching her fingers trace over soft flesh.

“Okay, then.” She reached out again and started unzipping his pants.

This time, even though it killed him to do so, he got up off the bed to put some more distance between them. “Oh, man: you’re killing me here, Laurie, but I just—I can’t.”

With a flurry of panic, it hit him that ‘can’t’ didn’t just mean now. As long as he felt this way about Sam, there was no way he would be able to do this. Jesus, he was so screwed. Or not.

Sam was a dead man.

Laurie huffed out an annoyed breath and started pulling her shirt back on. “Fine,” she grunted.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just hope that she figures out what she’s missing.” Doing up the last button on her blouse, she stood and came over to stand in front of him, a wry smile playing over her lips. “No one as pretty as you should be celibate.”

Dean’s scowl was automatic.

Rolling her eyes, Laurie leaned up and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Dean.” Then she strolled out the front door, leaving Dean to sink down on the bed that he was stuck sharing with Sam for the next three weeks.

Sometimes, it just wasn’t worth falling off the couch in the morning.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean couldn’t work up the heart to go back to the reception and watch Sam absently flirt his way through Rebecca’s friends, so he ended up pulling on his swim trunks and heading out into the ocean to unwind. When he felt a little more relaxed, he pulled himself out of the water and flopped down on the sand to dry, lying on his back with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head.

An indeterminate amount of time later, someone collapsed next to him, spraying his bare chest with sand. Dean opened one eye and glanced over to find Sam grinning at him, entire face animated with happiness. Looked like one of the Winchester boys had managed to get lucky. And just when Dean thought that today couldn’t get any better.

“Hey, man,” Sam said.

Dean swallowed the caustic reply he wanted to make. It wasn’t Sam’s fault Dean was a fucked up son of a bitch. Dropping an easy-going mask over his face, he drawled, “Sammy, you sly dog, you.”

“What?” Sam blinked, looking perplexed.

Dean sat up, plastering a grin on his face. “Dude, don’t even try it. You totally hit one of those chicks. So, which one was it? It was the blond in the blue dress, wasn’t it? The one with the ass?”

Sam snorted as he figured out what Dean was talking about. “I didn’t ‘hit’ anything, Dean,” he said, like Dean couldn’t see him sitting there all glowy and happy and shit.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean muttered, tracing idle spirals in the sand. “Then how come you’re not at the party?” It couldn’t be later than four; Rebecca and everyone else had to still be celebrating.

Sam shrugged. “I got bored. I don’t, uh, I don’t really have a lot in common with anyone anymore. I mean, everyone’s talking about investment portfolios and mortgages and I’ve got ‘I saved the world with my brother a few years ago, and then last month we took out a clutch of cockatrices over in West Virginia.’”

Dean eyed his brother. Sam didn’t sound upset about that, just vaguely amused. And if it had been his worries over a ‘normal’ life that had driven him to drink last night and from the reception today, then he wouldn’t look so damned happy. Something had to be going on here.

Or maybe this was just Sam relaxing, and it had been so long since Dean had seen it that he’d forgotten what it looked like.

“Sorry, man,” Dean offered, mostly because it had gotten real quiet and Sam, staring out at the ocean, showed no signs of saying anything.

Sam shrugged and then glanced over with a smile twitching the corners of his lips up. “Hey, you want to play some poker? We can order a few pizzas and some wings and then I can kick your ass.”

As Dean smiled back, an easy warmth spread through his chest. Suddenly, his earlier lack of … well, _anything_ … with Laurie didn’t seem to matter so much. “You wish,” he said, jumping to his feet.

Sam climbed up more slowly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, it’s gonna happen. Because you’re not gonna cheat this time.”

“Dude, cheating is part of the game,” Dean protested as they started back to their rooms.

“Sure, according to Dad’s rules,” Sam returned. “But tonight we’re playing by mine.” He paused and then added, smugly, “Bitch.”

Damn it, Sam remembered. Dean had been beginning to think his brother had forgotten their bet during last night’s drunken stupor. “Fine,” he snapped. “But if I can’t cheat, you can’t either.”

“Are you kidding?” Sam laughed. “I’m cheating my ass off!”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“How about we make this a little more interesting?” Sam asked, shuffling the cards with precise, easy movements.

Feeling lazy and content with his stomach crammed full of some of the best wings he’d ever eaten, Dean shrugged. He eyed the few remaining slices of pizza and wondered if he could manage to get one more down.

“Buck a hand?”

“I said ‘interesting’, Dean. We play for money all the time.”

“Not with each other.”

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor where his stomach was concerned, Dean reached out one hand and closed the top of the pizza box. When he looked back over at his brother, Sam had stopped shuffling. He was lounging in his chair and watching Dean with an unfamiliar expression that quickly morphed into a taunting grin.

Dean’s chest tightened. For a second there, Sam had looked almost …what, predatory? That couldn’t be right. At any rate, Dean’s logic obviously wasn’t impressing him.

“Fine,” Dean sighed. “What’d you have in mind?”

“One piece of clothing for—”

“ _Strip_ poker?” Dean thought he heard an embarrassing crack in his voice as he shot upright in his chair.

Sam shrugged nonchalantly and started shuffling the cards again.

“Seriously, dude, what the fuck?” Dean demanded, thoughts flittering through his head too quickly for him to properly catalog any of them.

Sam had found out and he was doing this to force Dean into revealing himself.

Sam was just being the same freak he always was.

Sam was using this game to reveal his intention to become a nudist.

Sam had suddenly developed an allergy to his clothes and needed an excuse to take them off.

Sam wanted to fuck Dea— _Do_ not _go there, Winchester._

Sam looked amused by Dean’s stunned expression. “You didn’t let me finish,” he pointed out, and then smirked as he added, “Loser has to streak a mile down the beach and back again.”

Everything snapped into sharp focus, although Dean didn’t feel any more comfortable with the situation. This was just another one of Sam’s attempts at plain old, perfectly normal, brotherly humiliation. Kid was probably planning on getting Dean naked, sending him on his way, and then gathering as many of his friends as he could for an impromptu party on the beach to welcome him back to the finish line.

Dean could give a flying fuck about Sam’s Stanford buddies getting a peek at the goods, but there was no way he was getting naked with Sam in the room. Especially not if Sam lost a few hands and ended up a little underdressed himself.

Dean shook his head, his stomach curling into anxious knots. “That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Sam put the cards down on the table, leaning closer and holding Dean’s eyes with his own. “Chicken?” he asked, voice soft.

Dean’s breath caught and he laughed nervously. “Dude, this is stupid. We’ll get arrested for indecent exposure.”

“The risk is half the fun,” Sam said, like he wasn’t the most boring, anal person on the planet. And the thing of it was, with his eyes dark and locked on Dean’s, he really, really wasn’t.

“You’re not possessed again, are you?” Dean asked, keeping his tone light. He tried to look away and couldn’t quite manage it.

“ _Pater noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua_ …” Sam trailed off and then sat back in his chair again, one hand coming down on top of the deck of cards. “Is that enough or do you want me to run through the whole thing for you?”

Dean shook his head wordlessly.

“Okay, then. Hold ‘em or Stud?”

Sam obviously wasn’t letting this go. Sighing, Dean muttered, “Hold ‘em.” He pressed his lips together in annoyance as Sam dealt them each five cards and put the rest of the deck down on the table. Looked like they were playing Stud.

Contrary asshole.

True to his promise, Sam used pretty much every cheat that Dad had taught them. Dean only caught his brother at it a few times—Sam’s mechanic’s grip had gotten pretty good, actually—but he knew whenever Sam was doing something fishy. The self-satisfied little smirk on his brother’s face always gave him away. Not that Sam was being particularly subtle about it; on their very first hand, he gave himself a royal flush and Dean a pair of twos.

“Very funny,” Dean muttered, toeing off one of his boots.

Sam leaned out of his chair to glance under the table and then said, “Other one too.”

Dean bared his teeth at his brother in a hard smile. “Don’t think so. One piece of clothing per hand: that was the deal.”

“Shoes count as one piece,” Sam argued.

Dean shook his head as he pulled the deck over to himself and started shuffling. “Should’ve made that clear before we started then, shouldn’t you?” he asked, and then dealt out the next hand.

He was tempted to cull the deck while he had his hands on it, but Sam had told him not to, and if he welshed on their bet then he’d never hear the end of it. He expected Sam to protest more, but his brother just accepted the cards Dean tossed at him and sat back in his chair with a shrug. When he lost that hand _(fair and fucking square, too)_ , Sam dropped his cards down on the table and, grinning at Dean, drew his shirt off in one languid motion.

Dean stared at his brother’s chest while Sam wadded the shirt into a ball and tossed it onto the couch and then jerked his eyes away. He felt flushed and a little confused by the way Sam was acting. The way he’d kept his eyes on Dean’s face while he slowly pulled his shirt up—that particular tilt of his lips—it was like he’d _wanted_ to lose that hand.

That couldn’t be right, could it? Wasn’t the whole idea of this game to send Dean outside in his birthday suit for a little public humiliation?

But for some reason, despite the fact that Sam cheated on every one of the following hands—including those Dean dealt, the sneaky son of a bitch—Dean wasn’t having anything close to a losing streak. He lost his other boot on the next hand, sure, but then Sam lost one of the stupid flip flops he’d bought specifically for this trip. Dean lost a sock, and Sam lost his other flip flop. Dean ended up sitting in the chair with both of his bare feet pressed against the floorboards, and Sam worked his belt out of its loops and set it down next to his own chair.

When Dean came up with a straight and Sam shot him right back down with a full house _(aces full of kings)_ , Dean shrugged his shirt off reluctantly. He and Sam had been a lot more naked than this as recently as yesterday _(swim trunks didn’t leave all that much to the imagination)_ , but that hadn’t felt like this. It hadn’t been so _intimate_ , with the darkness outside and the soft glow of the lamps and the hypnotic crash of waves only a few feet from their porch.

Sam was watching him from underneath stray strands of hair as he reclaimed the deck and started shuffling, even though it was Dean’s turn to deal. Dean didn’t bother protesting; he was too busy trying to sit still underneath the scrutiny.

“Your chest feel okay?” Sam asked, riffling the deck.

“What?”

Sam shrugged and started counting out the cards. “You look a little sunburned. Maybe we should pick up some sunscreen tomorrow.”

Now that Sam mentioned it, Dean did feel a little warmer than normal. Not that it was any of Sam’s business. “I’m fine,” he grunted, picking up his hand.

His brother had dealt Dean a straight flush right off the bat, and he relaxed a little. Looked like Sam was planning on continuing the pattern he’d set up, which meant he had a few more minutes to convince himself that sitting around playing strip poker with his brother wasn’t making him incredibly horny.

“You want any cards?” Sam asked, toying with his own hand.

Dean raised one eyebrow. “Why the hell are you even asking?”

“Suit yourself. You ready to show them, then?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean set his cards down on the table face up. He wasn’t going to look when Sam pulled his pants off, that was all. He was gonna look out the window at the ocean instead. He was _not_ going to get hard one hand away from …

“Looks like you lose again. Too bad.”

What the ... ?

Dean looked back at the table and Sam was sitting on another fucking royal flush. Son of a bitch. He stared as his brother, smirking, leaned back in his chair.

Holding Dean's gaze, Sam raised his hands over his head in a lazy stretch that seemed to just keep on going. And now was a really fucking inopportune time for Dean to be noticing the way that the warm glow from the lamps was playing across his brother’s chest.

“Quit stalling and drop ‘em,” Sam said, and _Christ_ , there was no way Dean was reining his libido in now.

He swallowed and then, hitting on a chance for salvation, reached for his bracelet. Sam’s hand shot forward and closed around his wrist, pinning it to the table. Dean was suddenly finding it difficult to think—probably because all of his blood had been redirected from his brain to his dick.

“Jewelry doesn’t count, Dean,” Sam said. His voice was soft but firm, carrying a hint of something that Dean couldn’t identify: something dangerous that made his pulse speed.

“You didn’t say anything about it when we started.”

Sam wasn’t smiling. “Pants. Now.”

Dean yanked his hand back and stumbled up from his chair. He stood there next to the table, wondering whether he should get the fuck out of here before this went any further. Wondering if he could come up with any sort of explanation for that sort of behavior in the morning.

 _When the hell did you get to be such a pussy, Winchester?_ a hard voice asked him. _Just drop your fucking pants and if—when—Sam notices, just tell him you were thinking about Laurie._

He blinked and the tension ran out of him, leaving him lightheaded. Of course. Even if certain things came to light, that didn’t necessarily mean that they were about Sam. Dean was being a fucking moron.

He dropped his head and pulled open his jeans, shoving them down around his ankles and then kicking them off. “There, happy?” he growled. He sat down again without looking at Sam. Couldn’t bring himself to raise his eyes from the table as he started collecting the cards.

“So, last hand.” Sam’s voice was low and confident.

Dean concentrated on shuffling. “What do you mean ‘last hand’? Last time I looked, _you_ still have at least two hands to go.”

“I would if I was wearing boxers.”

Holy fuck. Dean’s hands clenched and he sent the cards flying all over the place. Instead of trying to collect them, he found himself just sitting where he was with his eyes fastened to the table. Sam wasn’t moving either, and Dean realized that he’d just given himself away. Sam had to know something was up now, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was. Now would come the questions, and Sam was like a dog with a damned bone: couldn’t leave anything alone.

Then Sam started laughing.

Dean edged his head up. His eyes were narrowed and a dawning suspicion tightened his chest. Sam was doubled over, wheezing and banging one hand on the table.

“Your face!” he gasped. “Dude, you … you actually thought … I was trying … to get you … nuh-naked!” He fell off the chair and continued his laughing fit on the floor.

Dean’s skin went cold. A prank. He'd been tying himself up in knots over this and Sam had been pranking him. The little shit. At least he’d mistaken Dean’s hesitancy for the normal embarrassment someone should have felt when their brother suggested they play a rousing game of strip poker.

“…thought you … were gonna … piss yourself …” Sam guffawed.

Dean shoved back his chair and grabbed his pants, yanking them back on. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that, Sam?” His voice shook, but hopefully his brother would take it for anger rather than the relief it was.

Sam laughed harder.

“This is war,” Dean warned.

“…not for … for another … ah ha … week …”

“You’ve got five more days,” he pointed out, and then stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and locking it. After a moment’s thought, he started the shower too. He had a hard, throbbing problem to take care of thanks to Sam’s idea of ‘funny’, and he didn’t want his brother to hear him ‘handling it’, so to speak.

Dean tore off his jeans and boxers and all but flung himself into the shower, wrapping one hand around himself and dropping his forehead against the wall. When he came, it was to the memory of Sam’s voice, low and sure, ordering him to take his pants off.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam was lying on his back on the bed with his hands cupped behind his head. He was grinning, one leg drawn up so that his foot was resting flat on the mattress. Oh, and he was also naked.

“You planning on coming to bed anytime tonight?” he asked, his voice honey thick.

“What the hell?” Dean blurted. He knew he sounded panicked and didn’t care. Sam was _naked_ , damn it, and hard, and … oh fuck.

Sam had leaned up on his left elbow and was holding himself in his other hand. He trailed his fingers down his length and his lips parted.

“What the hell?” Dean repeated, voice coming out strangled. Sam was clearly possessed. Either that or he’d been dosed by something: succubus, incubus—lili maybe.

“Come on, Dean. Been waiting fucking forever.” Sam’s hand picked up its pace and his legs fell open wider. “Want you— _fuck_ —want your mouth.”

With a great deal of effort, Dean managed an eloquent “Ngh”.

Sam’s head fell back, exposing a long line of throat. “You want me, don’t you?” he demanded.

Dean didn’t answer—couldn’t find the words—but his traitorous legs drew him forward to the edge of the bed. Close enough to see how hard his brother was: how hungry. Close enough to see the sweat beading across his brother's skin. To smell the sharp, clean scent that was _Sam_.

“You can, Dean,” Sam told him, lowering his head again and catching Dean’s eyes. “Anything you want. It’s okay: I want you to. Need you to.”

“God, Sammy, I don’t—”

“Please,” Sam keened, his hips jerking up helplessly.

Something in Dean’s chest crumbled and he found himself crawling up the bed, covering Sam’s body with his own. At the press of their chests together, he realized that he was naked too, and when had that happened? He’d been wearing clothes before, hadn’t he?

“Love you,” Sam breathed, distracting him, and surged up to catch his mouth in a bruising kiss. Sam’s hand was around Dean’s wrist, guiding him down to his cock, and Dean gripped automatically, lacing his fingers through Sam’s so that they were both working him.

“Make it good,” Dean babbled in between kisses. “Make it so fucking good, Sammy, you don’t even know.”

“Dean,” Sam called, and flicked his ear.

Distracted, Dean blinked and his hand hesitated, stilling their combined stroke. Something wasn’t adding up here: namely the number of hands involved. He counted and came up with one of Sam’s hands underneath his on Sam’s cock, and a second curled around his hip, dragging their bodies together.

And then a third hand flicked his ear for a second time, while Sam said in an annoyed tone of voice, “Wake up already, man!”

Dean snapped out of the dream, scrambling into a sitting position. He looked blearily up at his brother, who was standing over him in his boxers with a frown on his face.

“What are you doing over here?” Sam demanded.

Dean’s stomach plummeted. He could feel his cock hard and full between his legs—not really surprising after a dream like that, but kind of awkward right now. He wondered frantically if he’d said something: if Sam had heard him, if he knew.

Then Sam added, “I thought we agreed to share the bed. You’re gonna sprain something trying to sleep on that thing.”

Dean sucked in a relieved breath. Sam was upset about catching him zonked out on the couch. Thank God. “You kick in your sleep,” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

“The bed’s like a mile wide,” Sam argued. “There’s plenty of room.”

Instead of continuing the argument, Dean went with, “What the hell did you wake me up for anyway?”

“Rebecca’s heading out with Tom after breakfast. I thought you might want to say goodbye.”

Oh right. Dean ran a hand through his hair and shrugged. “Yeah sure. Just let me, uh …”

“Take care of business?” Sam asked, his eyes dipping down to Dean’s crotch and then lifting again.

Ignoring the heated flush that ran through him at that glance, Dean tossed a pillow at his brother. Sam, of course, caught it in one hand.

“Oh yeah, like you didn’t clean your pipes the minute you woke up,” Dean grumbled.

Sam shrugged nonchalantly, tossing the pillow up into the air and catching it again. “Hey, we didn’t all get lucky yesterday, Casanova.”

Dean hid a grimace at the memory of his failed rendezvous with Laurie and climbed to his feet. “I keep telling you: you just need to be a little more assertive, dude.” He started toward the bathroom. “Those girls were all over you yesterday; you could have nailed any one of them.”

“For the hundredth time, I don’t do casual fucks.”

“Sure you do. You’ve just gotta embrace your masculine side. I know it’s in there somewhere.” Dean paused in the bathroom doorway, glancing back at his brother who had flopped down onto the couch. “You take my advice and we’ll get you laid in a week—two tops.”

Sam snorted and leaned back in a loose, open sprawl that was doing wonders for Dean’s morning wood. He should have looked ridiculous in the loose, flower-covered shirt he was wearing _(shit was painful to look at)_ , but somehow he still managed to look good. Sam’s legs shifted open a little more and Dean mentally corrected himself: he looked _really_ fucking good.

“Last time I took your advice on women, Sharon Waverly slapped me and said she never wanted to see me again.”

“I told you: that’s cause you weren’t doing it right.” Or possibly Sharon Waverly was brain dead. Taking in the long lines of his brother’s body, Dean couldn’t come up with any other logical explanation.

“Whatever,” Sam muttered. “Point is, I’m doing just fine on my own, thanks.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean scoffed. “Then how come you were in here _being_ an ass last night instead of out there _getting_ some?”

Sam’s lips twitched up in a sphinx-like smile, and he said, “How about a little bet?”

“What? No. Absolutely not. I’m already stuck playing cabana boy for the next four days.”

“Five,” Sam corrected absently and then continued, “If I manage to ‘get some’, by the end of the week, then you let me buy you a shirt.” He plucked at the monstrosity he was wearing to indicate exactly what he meant by that, and then drawled, “And you wear it.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. _Just say no,_ he told himself, but Sam was giving him this challenging, ‘if you’re man enough, that is’ look, and he found himself saying, “If I win, I get to burn that lame ass thing, and you dress like a normal human being again.”

“We’re on, then?”

Something about the way Sam’s smile had deepened—like a cat with a helpless canary—made Dean hesitate. “You don’t already have plans with someone from last night? Like that blonde chick?”

“Everyone else is leaving today, remember?”

“So from scratch, then?”

Sam just sat there, waiting.

Dean eyed the shirt his brother was wearing and imagined torching the fucking thing. Imagined two whole weeks of Sam in white cotton, soft and see through when it got wet. And there was lots of water around here. His erection gave a painful twinge at the thought, reminding him that he had better things to be doing than standing around bargaining with his brother.

“Fine. We’re on.” He ducked into the bathroom before Sam could distract him again and shut the door on his brother's response. Immediately pressing his back against it, Dean shoved a hand into his boxers. The grin stretching his lips was only partially due to finally being able to take care of business.

Sam hadn’t said that Dean wasn’t allowed to interfere, so he now had a legitimate reason to cockblock his brother for an entire week. And if Dean wasn’t getting any, Sam sure as hell wasn’t either: not after the shit he pulled last night.

Winning the bet and burning that ugly-ass shirt were only a bonus.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Just kill me now,” Dean complained, and then winced as he tried to shrug his shirt off. Sam was immediately there, helping, and if Dean hadn’t been in so much pain he’d have been hard in a heartbeat. As it was, he still had to stifle a groan at the feel of his brother’s huge hands batting his aside and carefully drawing his shirt off.

“This looks really bad,” Sam said. “Didn’t you put on any sun block?”

“Of course I did.”

“On your back?”

“I didn’t think we were going to the beach straight from the restaurant.” Dean scowled at his brother’s reflection in the dresser mirror, but Sam was too busy staring at his back to notice.

Behind him, Sam snorted in annoyance. His breath, sliding over Dean’s shoulder blades, felt cool. “You should have said something. How’s your front?”

Dean glanced down and his heart sunk. “Charbroiled,” he muttered.

“You’re a moron, you know that?”

Since there wasn’t really anything Dean could say to that, he just shrugged. And instantly regretted it. “Fuck!” he hissed. He’d forgotten how much sunburns could hurt.

“Moron,” Sam said again, and then there were hands on Dean’s waist pushing him forward.

“Hey!” Dean protested.

“Sit down,” Sam ordered, maneuvering him toward the bed. “I’ve got some aloe in my bag.”

Dean sat down on the edge of the mattress. Sam wasn’t going to leave him alone until he did what he wanted, and besides, some of that aloe stuff would feel pretty good right about now. He listened to Sam mumble angrily to himself as he rummaged around in his bag and then, hoping to stave off a lecture, said, “Look, I’ll be fine in a couple of days. I heal fast, remember?”

“You wouldn’t have to heal at all if you’d listened to me for once,” Sam pointed out before muttering, “At least he’ll have to sleep in the bed tonight.”

Dean’s heart rate picked up. “The couch is fi—”

“Shut up,” Sam said, and climbed onto the bed behind him. Dean heard the snap of a cap and started to twist around before he realized that it wasn’t a good idea.

Biting his lip against the rush of pain that motion had provoked, he looked back—careful to turn just his head this time—and said, “Dude, I can do that myself.”

“Would you relax already?” Sam huffed, and then dropped two hands that felt like they were coated in ice on Dean’s shoulders.

“Motherfucker!” Dean yelled. He would have jumped up, but Sam’s firm grip was keeping him in place. “That’s fucking _cold_ , you ass! Let go!”

Sam tightened his grip, thumbs digging into Dean’s collarbone, and growled, “Sit. Still.”

The command in his brother’s voice penetrated past the discomfort and Dean felt himself respond to it instinctively. He stared at the far wall with wide eyes, his breath coming too fast. Sam’s hands radiated a chill that was no longer painful into his fevered skin. Sensing that Dean wasn’t going to fight anymore, he relaxed his grip and started to smooth his aloe-covered hands across Dean’s shoulders.

“Is that all it takes?” Sam whispered. “You need someone to tell you to step in line and march straight?”

Dean's throat was suddenly desert-dry. He swallowed and then croaked, “Fuck you. Sadistic asshole.”

Sam chuckled: a low sound that sunk into the base of Dean’s spine. His hands lifted and then came back a moment later, smeared with more gel. Dean jumped a little as his brother traced lower, but his shoulders were starting to feel really good so he didn’t complain.

Now that he was cooperating, Sam was being surprisingly gentle: his fingers ghosting across Dean’s skin and leaving cool trails in their wake. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into his brother’s touch, letting his head fall forward. Sam was good at this. Really, really good.

He must have said that out loud because Sam said, "I took a massage class when I was at Stanford. Wanted to surprise Jess."

It had been years since that name had had the power to hurt Sam, but that didn't mean Dean wanted his brother dwelling on the past. In an effort to distract him, he grunted, "Next time we're hard up for cash, I'm renting you out."

Sam's quiet laugh told Dean that he'd succeeded. The knowledge brought a smile to his lips that had nothing to do with the way his brother had inched a little closer, both of his knees pressing up along the outside of Dean's hips. And that shudder that ran through Dean's muscles when Sam started kneading the small of his back? Totally from the sunburn.

When Sam gave his shoulders a final pat before crawling off the bed a few minutes later, Dean had to bite his lip to keep from protesting. He looked up as his brother came around to stand in front of him.

“Here,” Sam said, handing him the bottle of aloe. “Do your front. I’m gonna go get us some dinner.”

“Steak?” Dean said hopefully.

“Dunno,” Sam answered. “I’m more in the mood for fish.”

Dean’s stomach flip flopped. “Dude, not cool. I’m injured here. You should be getting me a juicy T-bone. And those big steak fries.” Pouring some of the gel into one of his hands, he considered and then added, “Maybe some cake.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was a small smile on his lips. “Dinner menu’s pretty much up to me for the next four days, isn’t it?”

Stupid bet. Dean shoved down his annoyance and concentrated on smearing his chest with the aloe. Didn’t feel half as nice as having Sam do it for him.

“Sure it is,” he said, keeping his voice light. “But if you don’t want to wake up with half your head shaved, you might want to get something that isn’t completely disgusting.”

“You’re just chicken,” Sam muttered, but his eyes were wary, so Dean figured that he’d won this round.

“Hey, last time we ate that crap, I spent five hours puking in an out of order toilet. Words can not describe how gross that was.” Dean closed the cap on the aloe and dropped it on the mattress.

“Maybe you should have stopped eating when you noticed your salmon was raw, then,” Sam suggested, and then ducked out of the room without giving Dean a chance to respond.


	5. Chapter 5

“You up for doing something today?” Sam asked.

Dean jumped and spat toothpaste out all over the bathroom mirror. Then he glared at his brother, who had been leaning in the doorway and watching him brush his teeth for who knew how long.

“Jesus, Sam,” he muttered, leaning over to rinse his mouth out in the sink.

“That’s … really disgusting,” Sam commented.

Dean spat the water in his mouth out and straightened again. “Lucky I didn’t spit it out on you, you freak. What the hell are you doing in here anyway?”

Sam ignored the question and stepped closer, studying Dean’s chest. “You look better.”

“Dude, I look _awesome_ ,” Dean corrected. He eyed the mess on the mirror doubtfully, then sighed under his breath and grabbed a towel to mop it up. Annoying Sam by leaving it there wouldn’t be amusing enough to make up for pissing the hell out of the maid service. Not when he was gonna have to deal with them for another two weeks. Those chicks could get nasty if you got on their bad side.

“I thought maybe we could head over to Hana Bay today,” Sam said, sitting on the edge of the counter. Even sitting he was taller than Dean, which was so not fair. Dean scrubbed at the mirror harder. “There’s this place Rebecca told me about that does snorkeling tours.”

“You’re actually letting me out of the room?” he said.

Sam had been keeping him under house arrest for the past two days while his burn healed. Not that Dean really minded having to spend some quality alone time with his brother: not now that he wasn’t pulling stupid pranks and messing with Dean’s head. And two days alone in the room was two days Sam wasn’t out getting some, which brought him that much closer to getting rid of that stupid shirt.

The only time Dean had been ‘allowed’ out of the room, in fact, was to bring the damned thing up to the main lobby to have it washed. Dean had balked at that until Sam waved their bet in his face, and then, grumbling, he acquiesced. Wasn’t like Sam would be able to keep wearing it for much longer, anyway.

All in all, even with the stupid little commands that Sam gave him from time to time _(Dean, go get the remote; Dean, open that window; Dean, give me the rest of that cake)_ , Dean had been enjoying himself. It was actually kind of sad how content lounging around their room and watching old reruns of Star Trek with his brother made him.

The only downside to the whole thing had been Sam’s insistence that they share the bed. Dean figured that he’d gotten maybe three hours of sleep total since that particular sleeping arrangement had gone into effect. Oh well. Maybe now that his burn was healed up, he’d be able to move back to the couch without Sam biting his head off about it.

Sam shrugged, leaning back against the mirror. “Like I said, you look better. Less like a walking advertisement for Coppertone.”

“You’ve got some serious mother-hen issues, you know that?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam asked, “Look, you want to get out of here or not?”

Dean was tempted to say ‘not’ and see if he could get another day alone with his brother, but he sensed that would be pushing it. Sam’d probably leave his ass here and go do this snorkeling thing on his own. Probably meet some hot chick while he was at it, fall in love, have his two point five kids and his white picket fence and his goddamned dog.

“Snorkeling sounds good,” Dean said, and tossed the towel into the tub.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Goddamn it!” Dean swore for the fourth time in between spluttering coughs.

Sam surfaced next to him, pulling the mouthpiece of his snorkel out of his mouth. “What was it this time?” he demanded.

“Mine’s broken,” Dean muttered. He looked askance at the business end of the snorkel, which kept filling up with water on him.

“You’re just not doing it right,” Sam told him, reaching for the snorkel. “Here, let me—”

“Fuck it.” Dean tossed the cursed thing in the direction of the boat, ignoring the looks that his action drew from the other tourists.

Sam’s mouth thinned. “You said you’d give this a chance, Dean.”

“I did, _Sam_. Now I’m doing it my way.” He turned away from his obviously exasperated brother and dove down underneath the water. Why the hell people needed those dumb snorkel things, anyway, he had no freaking clue.

Kicking his legs, Dean sent himself down toward the reef, careful not to actually touch it, and skimmed along lazily. The whole experience was a lot better now that he didn’t have to worry about that stupid snorkel. And the fish streaking past were pretty, in an almost fake kind of way. He’d seen pictures of things like this in his high school biology book, and he’d watched _Finding Nemo (two hours of torture in return for five hours of pure bliss with Heather ‘you’re so sensitive’ McNeil had been freaking worth it)_ , but it was surreal seeing them in real life.

A bright red and yellow fish bumped into his hand and Dean made a playful grab at it. It easily avoided him and then darted away through a school of neon blue fins and scales. He had to give this one to Sam: the whole ‘swim with the fishes’ thing was awesome.

When he finally had to head back to the surface for air, Dean was grinning broadly. He gulped in a fresh breath, already scanning the reef below for his next line of descent, and then someone ploughed into him from behind, all elbows and knees.

“Dean!” Sam blurted. “Dean, are you okay?”

Despite his brother hanging off of him like a three hundred pound monkey, Dean managed to turn around and keep them both afloat. Sam’s face was torn between alarm, relief and anger. Dean was pretty sure he already knew which of those was going to win out.

“Dude, chill,” he tried anyway. “Course I’m fine. What the hell is your problem?”

“You were down there for like five minutes!” Sam shouted.

Dean guessed it was probably more like six, but he wasn’t saying anything.

“Dean!” Sam said again, trying to shake him and only managing to slip under a bit himself.

Dean hauled him up again. “Just because you’re out of shape, doesn’t mean other people can’t hold their breath,” he said as soon as he was reasonably sure Sam could hear him.

“But—”

“I’m fine. Now stick that stupid thing back in your mouth and try and have some fun. You remember 'fun', right? It’s that thing that you seem to be allergic to.”

“When the hell did you learn how to—”

Sam might have had the grappling advantage on land, but Dad had never subjected him to the same intense water training he’d put Dean through. Sam had left before that particular three-month span of hell. So when Dean twisted abruptly in his brother’s grip, bringing his legs up and using Sam as a launching point, his brother was left flailing his arms and sputtering. Dean was pretty sure he’d be hearing about that later, but right now it was mighty satisfying.

He sped through the water, just inches away from the reef, and then surfaced again. When he looked back over his shoulder, Sam was swimming after him—all limbs and no finesse—but he didn’t look upset so Dean figured he’d wait. Sure enough, Sam came up next to him and then sent a wave at Dean’s face.

Dean ducked underneath the water for a moment and when he resurfaced, Sam was treading water in front of him and grinning. “You’re telling me the whole thing over dinner,” he said.

Dean snorted. “You’re just sore cause I can swim rings around you. Now come on, I want to get our money’s worth.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“So, uh, when you said you had reservations for dinner, you did mean _tonight_ , right?” Dean asked doubtfully.

“Yeah,” Sam answered, trailing his fingers in the ocean as the boat sped along.

“And we couldn’t drive the car there _why_?” Dean pressed.

Not that he was complaining. He had to admit that the way the moon and the stars were reflecting in the ocean was pretty awesome. Plus there was the wind, moving past them at a steady clip as the boat, piloted by some gap-toothed guy who didn’t even speak any English _(not that Sam had any trouble talking with him, and how many freaking languages did his brother_ know _, anyway?)_ , skirted the coastline of the island. Dean was a big fan of speed, and even if they weren’t actually going all that fast, the wind was giving him a pretty good illusion that they were. Also, Sam looked really good with his hair blowing back from his face.

His brother had dragged him around sightseeing for hours after they finished snorkeling, and then when Dean tried to steer them into a restaurant that smelled like heaven slathered in barbeque sauce and slapped on a grill, he'd balked and said he already had reservations somewhere else. Dean had asked Sam a) why the fuck that should matter when he was hungry _now_ , and b) when the hell he had a chance to set something like that up. Sam’s only response was a wide grin and an ‘it’s still my week’.

That had been pre-boat and three hours ago, though, and Dean had left hungry behind ages ago and moved into the realm of starving. Much more of this ring around the island crap, and he was pretty sure that he’d be able to see his ribs poking out through his t-shirt.

Sill watching the shore, which was looking pretty damned empty for somewhere that was supposed to be providing them with steak and roasted potatoes, Sam said, “We can’t drive because there aren’t any roads on that part of the island.”

“What the hell kind of restaurant is this?” Dean grumped, and his stomach enthusiastically seconded with a loud growl.

“I never said it was a restaurant.” Sam shot a slanting glance in Dean’s direction that shut his stomach right up. There was something warm in his brother’s eyes: something … anticipatory. Then Sam’s lips twitched up into an easy smile, leaving Dean wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing.

As he tried to settle his libido back into place, he threatened, “You’d better start explaining right now or I’m pitching your ass overboard.”

Sam didn’t look too worried by the threat, but he replied, “We’re going to a luau.”

Dean straightened. “A luau? Really? With a roast pig and shit?”

“And poi and haupia and laulau,” Sam agreed.

Dean had no freaking clue what any of that was, but it was probably good. Hell, right now a handful of sand would probably taste okay. “How long?” he asked, immediately looking over at the dark coastline.

Sam twisted his neck around and said a few words to the boat’s owner. Got a grunted, “ _Hapalua hola_ ,” in return.

“Half an hour,” Sam reported, turning back to Dean. “We should be able to see the light in a few minutes.”

They fell into a comfortable silence as Dean stared into the darkness, trying to make out the first signs of his promised dinner. After what felt like an eternity, he finally noticed a soft glow ahead and to their right. Thank God. Food and music and pretty girls ahoy. Especially pretty girls.

Even if he couldn’t bring himself to _touch_ anymore, he sure as hell could look, and Sam was … well, Sam had been more difficult than usual to be around today. He’d been _right there_ in Dean’s space all day, beaming and happy and huge, and having his knee constantly bumping against Dean’s thigh for the last couple of hours in this tiny boat wasn’t helping matters any. Dean was dealing okay right now—mostly because his stomach was taking up most of his attention—but as soon as he’d taken care of that problem, he was gonna need a little distraction.

As they got closer to that flickering beacon of firelight, though, a low thrum of horror started to spread through Dean’s skin. He tried to tell himself that he was wrong right up until the moment when the boat bumped up against the seabed and Sam jumped out into the water to hold it steady. Dean ignored the expectant look his brother was giving him in favor of staying where he was and eyed the beach warily.

There were flowers all over the place, and gaudy red, purple and orange decorations strung from the palm trees. Tall torches stuck in the sand burned brightly in long lines, lighting the strip of beach with a warm glow. In the center, on an unfinished wood table, were what looked like dozens of covered food dishes. Dean could make out the dark smudge of sand where the pig was probably hiding, and over by the tree line, looking incongruously modern in comparison with everything else, was a metal keg. That was all peachy.

No, the _problem_ was that there weren’t any people, although footprints and drag marks below the high tide mark told Dean that there had been only a little while before.

“Sam,” he said slowly, “Where is everyone?”

“I figured you’d want the whole pig to yourself,” Sam answered.

Okay, this was weird. This was so far out of left field that Dean had no fucking clue what he was supposed to say. His brother’s face fell a bit as he continued to sit in the boat.

Eyes lowering, Sam said, “I just wanted to, you know, thank you. For … for everything. I thought you’d like it.”

“So you bought me a _luau_?” Dean said, feeling a little stunned. In the first place, he hadn’t really done anything that Sam needed to thank him for. In the second place: luau.

“Umm … yeah?” Sam raised his eyes hopefully.

“I don’t know what to—” Dean stopped, giving his head a shake as he cleared his throat. “Thanks, man.”

Sam's blinding grin was back again in an instant, flashing full wattage up at him. “So, you gonna get out of the boat already?”

In answer, Dean splashed down into the water. He stood next to his brother and looked at the disturbed, blackened patch of sand. “Dude, a whole pig? Seriously?”

Sam offered him a fond smile. “Ears and all.”

“Cool,” Dean said, and started for shore.

While Sam had another unintelligible conversation with their ride, Dean headed over to the table and started poking through containers of food. Stuff looked _(and smelled)_ freaking awesome. The leaf rolls were stuffed with some kind of meat. Blocks of what looked like white gelatin turned out to be some kind of sweet coconut dessert when he popped one in his mouth to check.

“Oh, baby, where’ve you been all my life?” Dean moaned, putting the tray back reluctantly.

He was busy with a platter of spicy chicken wings when Sam materialized beside him. Holding it out, he said, “Dude, you’ve got to try these.”

“Later.” Sam's eyes were bright with amusement as Dean shrugged and moved onto a dish filled with some kind of dumpling. Hmm. Beef filling. Pretty tasty. “Hey, can you help me get the pig up?”

Licking his fingers clean, Dean nodded and followed his brother over to the blackened patch of sand. They had just managed to lift the pig clear _(and Jesus, it smelled good)_ , when Dean glanced over at the water and realized that they were in deep shit.

“Damn it!” he shouted, dropping his end. “That shifty bastard ditched us here!” His mind worked wildly as he tried to remember how big Maui was, and what their chances were of walking out of here. If Sam even knew which direction to walk _in_ , cause Dean sure as hell didn’t.

“Relax, man,” Sam said from behind him. “He’s coming back in the morning.”

“In the morning?” Dean spun around to glare at his brother. “What the hell are we supposed to do until then?”

“It’s cool.” Sam’s tone was offhanded as he set about cleaning off the pig.

“Cool? _Cool?_ Name one part of this that’s ‘cool’, Sam. I mean, where are we supposed to sleep?”

Sam shrugged. “There should be some blankets over there.”

Dean looked around and finally noticed the vague hump at the edge of the light. If he squinted, it took on the distinct shape of a pile of cloth. He stood there for a few minutes, trying to wrap his head around what was going on. Sam had just marooned them in the middle of nowhere. Deliberately. He had _planned_ this.

Which meant … what, exactly?

“Actually,” Sam said as he maneuvered the pig onto a large platter, “If you want to grab one, we can probably use it as a picnic blanket.”

Dean didn’t move. “Sam, what … what’re we doing here?”

Sam finally glanced up at him, a smile tugging at his lips. But instead of answering Dean’s question, he asked, “You want pork or not? Cause we’re supposed to eat this as soon as it’s out of the pit.”

Dean’s stomach gave a loud rumble, demanding that he put off worrying for a few minutes longer. He didn’t really care what was going on, did he? Not when there was an actual Hawaiian roast pig in the offering. This was Sam, remember? He was a freak, and a bit of a nerd, but perfectly safe. It wasn’t like Dean was stuck here with a psychotic ax murderer or, God forbid, one of his ex-flings.

“Dean?” Sam prodded. “The blanket?”

“Yeah, blanket. Right.”

Dean headed over to the pile, still feeling more than a little lost. By the time Sam had carved the pig and made up some plates for them, though, Dean’s stomach had made an executive decision to enjoy the food and shut his brain off for the duration of the meal.

The pig was better than he’d expected, and some of the other flavor combinations _(who’d ever thought that mango and bread would go together?)_ were surprisingly tasty. Even the beer seemed to go down smoother than normal.

When he was finally full enough that his belly was aching in protest, Dean put down the plate and lay on his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam licking his fingers clean and his cock gave a half-hearted twitch.

 _I’m too full for this_ , he thought, shutting his eyes and concentrating on the sound of the waves. He could still feel warmth radiating up through the blanket as he drifted away: the last remnants of the day’s heat trapped in the sand.


	6. Chapter 6

“Dean?” Sam said softly.

“Whassit?” Dean edged up on his elbows, blinking at the dark ocean in front of him. His limbs felt lazy and loose, and his stomach had lost that bloated feeling. “I fall asleep?” he asked, looking over at his brother.

Sam smiled at him. “Like a rock. You ready for dessert?”

Dean licked his lips, immediately perking up. “More of that coconut stuff?”

“Dude, you weren’t supposed to eat those until after!” Sam protested, but he was laughing, and the plate he handed Dean had more of the white cubes, as well as a bunch of other stuff that looked equally tasty. Dean ate slower this time, paying more attention to his stomach and to Sam, who was enjoying his own plate next to him.

Sam looked really relaxed and happy, with that stupid flowered shirt of his unbuttoned enough that Dean could see one of his nipples making an appearance. His hair was all messed up from swimming earlier and then from the boat ride, but on Sam that disorder somehow looked good. That long, lickable neck working as he swallowed his own dessert should have been illegal. Seriously, Dean was thinking about writing Congress about it.

Jerking his eyes away, he cleared his throat. “So, uh, this was a good idea. The vacation thing.”

“Told you so,” Sam replied. A comfortable silence fell between them for a few minutes, and when Sam spoke again, his voice held none of the smugness it had a moment ago. “Hey, Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean said, glancing back over.

Sam’s eyes were dark: his face serious. “I’m gonna try something here and I don’t want you to freak out.”

Dean frowned, confused and more than a little nervous. Sam wasn’t just _looking_ at him, he was staring. So goddamned intent.

“Sam, what the hell are you talking about?”

“Just—just give it a try, okay?” Sam said, and then leaned forward and kissed him.

 _Fuck yes,_ Dean thought, opening his mouth and letting Sam in. Then, in the next instant, he realized what he was doing and scrambled to his feet, kicking sand in all directions as he put some distance between them. His lips tingled where his brother had been.

Sam was up and after him in a second. “Dean, you said you wouldn’t freak out.”

Dean shook his head sharply, edging back further. “No I didn’t,” he said. “You asked, but I never—Jesus, Sam, what the hell?”

“You want me,” Sam said with a soft, even certainty that made Dean’s chest clench. “I don’t know for how long, but …” He swallowed, taking a step closer. “It’s not just you. It hasn’t been just you for a while.”

“You,” Dean said, and then followed up with, “But I,” before brilliantly finishing, “Not even gay!”

Sam snorted a wry laugh. “After everything we’ve been through, _that’s_ what bothers you?”

A few facts managed to come together in Dean’s shock-fogged brain and he pointed an accusing finger at his brother. “You set me up! This whole—the room with the bed, and the—the poker with the stripping—you were—you were trying to get in my pants!”

Sam grinned widely. “Is it working?”

Dean’s head was going to explode any second: no way was it going to be able to keep up with the thoughts and emotions racing through him. He didn’t know whether to run and hide, or take a swing and wipe that smile off of his brother’s face, or grab Sam and fuck the cockiness right out of him.

Finally, he licked his lips and mulishly said, “No.” His gut tightened as his brother’s grin deepened in response.

“Sure it is,” Sam murmured, and the next thing Dean knew, he was lying on his back in the sand with his brother draped on top of him.

“Sam, this is—” he started, and then Sam’s tongue was in his mouth again.

Sam kissed him like he was starving, cradling Dean’s head between both of his hands. Dean shuddered once and gave up trying to untangle the knot of emotions lodged in his chest. He reached out and gripped the back of his brother’s neck, pulling them more firmly together as he pressed up into the kiss. One of Sam’s knees slipped down between Dean’s thighs, parting them, and Dean’s other hand settled on his brother’s hip, sliding up underneath his shirt to rest on smooth, tanned skin.

Good. Oh _fuck_ , so good. On the surface, Sam tasted like those coconut things they’d both been eating, but underneath there was something heavier: something indefinable that Dean couldn’t label anything but _Sammy._

And he could kiss.

Dean knew that he was pretty good in that department himself—he should have been after all the practice he’d had over the years—but he’d never suspected that _Sam_ could kiss like this: dirty and hard and fast enough that it left Dean feeling winded. Then Sam did this thing with his tongue, sliding it along Dean’s in a wicked, fucking motion, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from making an embarrassing whine.

Sam drew back to demand, “Naked. Now.”

Before Dean’s brain woke up enough to decode that, Sam’s hands were yanking his shirt up. When Dean caught up with things and started helping, Sam abandoned his shirt and got right to work on his buckle.

Dean stripped his top off in one smooth motion and then tossed it to one side. He reached for the fugly thing his brother was wearing and grabbed hold of it. He started to tug it up and then Sam’s hand was on his wrist, stopping him.

“Just lie back.”

“If you think I’m gonna be the only one bareassed on the beach, then—”

“Lie. Back,” Sam repeated.

Dean shut up and lay back, not moving except to lift his hips when Sam told him to. When Sam finally had him naked, he sat back on his heels and stared, his eyes heated.

“You look—Jesus, man, you look so fucking …” As he rubbed one hand across Dean’s hip, Sam’s expression darkened. “No one else,” he said. “I don’t give a shit what you did before, but if you even _think_ about fucking anyone but me after tonight, then I’m gonna—”

“Just you. Yeah, okay. Not a problem.” Dean licked his lips, watching the way that the firelight caught in his brother’s hair. The way that it made those high cheekbones seem even more pronounced. Yeah, the whole monogamy thing definitely wasn’t gonna be an issue.

Sam’s hand moved inward, tracing over sensitive skin of Dean's hip to wrap around his cock. Even as Dean bucked up into that touch, his mind gave one final effort at panicking. This was Sam—this was his _little brother_ —and they weren’t really going to do this, were they?

Dean wasn’t going to let _Sam_ do this.

“Wait,” he choked out. “Sammy, _wait_.”

“Don’t you dare,” Sam growled, releasing Dean’s dick to pin his flailing hands to the sand. He leaned over and bit Dean’s shoulder, hard and possessive. That brief, hot flare of pain made Dean’s breath rush out in a hiss.

When Sam looked up again, his face had softened. “I want this, Dean. I want you. Just let me.”

“S-Sam, I can’t—I—”

“You need me to make it an order? Would that make this easier on you?”

And there went Dean’s ability to breathe.

“Because I can,” Sam whispered. He released Dean’s wrists and then headed south, leaving a trail of sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his stomach.

Dean stared up at the sky, not looking down at his brother because he was too afraid of what Sam was doing. Too afraid of what Sam might _not_ be doing.

A warm breath gusted across Dean’s cock and it twitched in response. He dug his hands into the sand, seeking for purchase: seeking for some way to ground himself. His brother’s lips descended, pressing a light kiss to the head. Sam’s tongue flicked out, teasing. Dean bit back on a whimper: on the pleas for Sam to just do it already, damn it.

“Love you, Dean,” Sam whispered, and then his lips spread wide and he moved down. Warmth closed around the tip of Dean’s cock and paused there while Sam licked at the slit. Dean tried to thrust up and found Sam’s hands curled around his hips and holding him in place.

“Come on, man …” Dean begged.

Sam ignored him, keeping up those maddening strokes of his tongue while his thumbs rubbed circles into Dean’s skin.

“Sammy, please,” he groaned. “You’re killing me here.”

Sam pulled back, the bastard, and ordered, “Say it first.”

“What?” Dean craned his neck to look down at his brother and almost came right then at the sight of Sam’s spit-shiny lips inches away from his cock.

“You know what,” Sam told him, and then closed his mouth back over Dean’s dick, dropping _(holy fuck)_ all the way down for one, shining moment. Then he backtracked, pulling up and almost completely off again.

“That’s—ah—bla-blackmail,” Dean protested. It probably would have been more convincing if it didn’t come out in a moan.

Sam’s only response was to suck harder on the head of Dean’s cock, leaving him writhing and desperate beneath him.

“Fine! Fine, you asshole—I—Jesus God—I love you too, just suck me already.”

Sam immediately opened wide, dropping his head forward until his lips were pressed against Dean’s skin. Dean could feel the head of his cock lodged deep in his brother’s throat, but Sam wasn’t gagging, which meant that he’d either been born without a gag reflex or trained himself out of it. Dean hoped, for the sake of whatever guys his brother had experimented with, that it was the former.

Then Sam started swallowing, his throat working around Dean like a vise, and Dean wasn’t ever gonna hear the end of this, but that was _it_.

“Sam!” he shouted in warning, grabbing his brother’s hair and trying to tug him off.

Stubborn as always, Sam stayed right where he was. He kept swallowing while Dean came, and it was so goddamned _good_ that Dean was pretty sure he whited out for a few seconds. When he was able to think straight again, his too-sensitive dick was still in Sam’s mouth, and Sam was idly running his tongue along the bottom of it.

Dean twisted, tightening his grip on Sam’s hair and pulling. “Sam,” he panted. “Sammy, man, stop. That shit hurts.”

Sam’s mouth finally came off with a slick pop that made Dean’s spent dick give a final, weary twitch. Sam immediately surged up his body and started kissing him again, slow and languid.

Dean shoved at his brother’s chest. “Dude, gross,” he complained.

“Shut up,” Sam said, and then kissed him again.

Five minutes later, Dean realized that he hadn’t done anything to reciprocate and broke away again. He started to ask, “You want me to—” and then stopped as his groping hand found damp denim.

“Oh,” he said, and then smirked.

His brother groaned and rolled off of him.

“I’m just that good, huh?”

Sam threw one arm over his eyes. “Just kill me now.”

“No, seriously. I didn’t even _touch_ you, man.”

“Not like you’re gonna be setting any stamina records yourself,” Sam muttered.

Hrm. That was true enough. Also: it probably wasn’t a great idea to be pissing off the guy he wanted to fuck in the near future.

“Call it a draw?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded and grabbed Dean’s shoulder with one hand, rolling them together. “Yeah, deal,” he agreed, his lips brushing against Dean’s forehead in a gentle kiss.

Dean thought about protesting—this _definitely_ counted as cuddling—and then decided not to. After all, given his own stealth-snuggling tendencies, he wasn’t really one to talk. He let Sam maneuver his head down onto one broad shoulder, and then closed his eyes.

When sleep took Dean again, it was to the twin lullaby of the waves and his brother’s steadily beating heart.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke up the next morning using his brother as an oversized teddy bear. For a few, horrible moments, he panicked. An instant later, the events of the night before flashed into his mind. Dean blinked down at the mop of his brother’s hair and debated panicking anyway, just on principle. The whole incest thing was supposed to be a big deal, wasn’t it?

But then Sam stirred, tilting his head back and blinking up at Dean, and there was no way that he was gonna feel anything but good about this. Not when it put such a warm, contented smile on his brother’s face.

“Morning,” Sam said, and then nuzzled Dean’s shoulder.

“Mmhmm,” Dean agreed. He let Sam roll him over onto his back, bringing one leg up and letting the heat of the sun-warmed sand soak into the bottom of his foot. “So, does this make me Batman?”

“What?” Sam blinked at him, confused.

“The other night,” Dean said, sliding one hand up underneath his brother’s shirt. “When you were drunk off your ass—”

“Dude, I _really_ don’t want to know what I said.”

Dean just laughed and bit down gently on his brother’s neck.

“Oh, God, do that again.”

Dean did and then, at Sam’s low moan, pulled back to give him a smug grin. “Didn’t quite catch that, Sammy.”

“Fucker. Keep going.”

Dean was tempted to do just that, but instead he found his grin sliding sideways into a serious frown. He trailed his hand along his brother’s skin, not sure if the motion was meant to reassure Sam or himself.

Sensing the change in his mood, Sam’s eyes softened and he said, “Dean?”

“What are we doing here, man?” Dean blurted. Jesus, it looked like Sam’s girly tendencies were sexually transmitted. Great.

“I thought we were about to have sex,” Sam suggested, one corner of his mouth twitching up into an almost-smile.

Oh hell, the bastard was gonna make him say it. “No, I mean. Us. What are _we_ doing? With you and me. I mean, you’re my _brother_ , Sam, and—”

“I don’t care,” Sam interrupted. All hint of levity or joking was gone: his eyes sharp. “And maybe that’s fucked up as hell, but I’ve thought about this a lot, and I don’t give a damn. Yeah, you’re my brother. Fine. But I—I still want this, Dean. I still want _you_ , and I’m sick of pretending I don’t.”

Dean took a moment to work through what his brother was saying and then asked, “Are you sure, man? Cause if you freak out about this in a few days, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“You think I would have set all this up if I wasn’t sure?”

The nervous tension in Dean’s chest eased and his lips twisted wryly. “Bitch. You _did_ set me up.”

Sam shrugged unapologetically. “I was getting tired of waiting for you to make a move. And you can call me a girl all you want, but I couldn’t keep watching you throw yourself at women who only cared about scratching an itch.”

The hitch in his brother’s voice made Dean think again about the night he’d been working on Laurie. Sam’s drunken interruption and incoherent rambling made a hell of a lot more sense now that he knew what was going on in the kid’s head.

“I didn’t, you know,” he confessed. “Sleep with Laurie, I mean.”

“I know.” Sam dropped his head down and rested their foreheads together. “Saw her back at the reception. She told me everything.”

Dean snorted. There he’d been mourning a life of celibacy and Sam had just been stringing him along.

“I can’t believe you didn’t say anything,” he grumped. “What the hell were you waiting for?”

“The right moment,” Sam answered, and then kissed him, slow and deep like sunlight.

When they finally came up for air, Dean felt slightly mollified. Sam had been a jackass, sure, but Dean could think of a few ways his brother could make it up to him. Starting right about now.

“You’re so damned gorgeous,” Sam breathed, tracing Dean’s face with his eyes. “Drives me nuts.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” Dean murmured, and slid his hand back out from underneath Sam’s shirt to work on the buttons. “Be better if we got you out of this thing …”

A low horn startled both of them, and Dean craned his neck around his brother’s body to see their ride from last night heading toward the beach. “Shit!” he swore, and then scrambled for his clothes while Sam sat back on his ass and laughed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Turned out that the driver actually spoke perfectly good English. Also turned out that he’d gotten more than a glimpse of the goods. He leered at Dean the whole way back, making lewd comments and suggestions. Sam, annoyingly enough, just sat there and did his best not to laugh out loud.

“Thanks for defending my honor,” Dean grumbled when they were safely back on land and heading for their rental car.

“ _What_ honor?” Sam pointed out, and then grabbed Dean’s shoulder and detoured them toward a small shop with the brilliant name of Hana Souvenir Headquarters.

“What? You want a Maui shot glass or something?” Dean asked, reluctantly letting his brother drag him inside. He glanced at the dashboard hula dolls filling one of the display cases. Tacky, but strangely compelling.

“Nope.” Sam craned his neck around, obviously searching for something through the garishly-displayed junk, and then his gaze sharpened and he made a direct beeline for …

“No fucking way,” Dean blurted.

Sam reached back—bastard had long arms—and yanked him forward. Dean dragged his feet, but Sam was really determined and he ended up standing next to the clothing rack anyway. Sam held him there with one hand and used the other to start holding one hideous shirt after another up against his chest.

Dean batted them away, although what he was tempted to do was salt and burn the whole lot right here. He could toss Sam’s ugly rag on top and make it a party.

“No means no, Sam,” he snapped, trying uselessly to pull his arm free.

Sam just hummed happily to himself. “You lost, Dean; time to pay up.”

“What? Lost—” He stopped abruptly as he realized what Sam was talking about. “That … that doesn’t count.”

Sam raised one eyebrow and put back a tasteless orange shirt. Reaching for a blue piece of crap loud enough to stop traffic, he said, “If that isn’t your definition of ‘getting some’, you’ve been doing it wrong all these years.”

“No way,” Dean argued. “We didn’t—” He glanced around and then lowered his voice. “No penetration, no goddamned shirt.”

Sam looked down at him, eyes suddenly intent. Stepping closer, he fit their bodies together so that his hipbone was pressed against Dean’s cock and slipped two fingers down the back of his pants.

Dean went still. It was embarrassing how goddamned horny Sam’s ‘take charge’ attitude made him. Also inconvenient as hell when he was doing his best to put up a determined front.

“You telling me you aren’t gonna let me fuck you for the next three days?” Sam whispered, his lips brushing against Dean’s ear.

“Who said I was gonna bottom?” Dean shot back. His voice only shook a little. Maybe Sam hadn't heard.

The grin on his brother's face when he stepped back said otherwise, of course. “Hey, I’m not picky. Might _get_ picky in a few days, though. You never can tell.”

Dean’s lips thinned. “You’re an evil son of a bitch.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m remarkably okay with that,” he said, and then shoved the blue monstrosity into Dean’s hand. “I think we’ll go with this one.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean wasn’t wearing the thing until he absolutely had to. He could hold out. He’d been waiting for Sam for _years_ ; three more days was peanuts.

Sam, of course, took that as a challenge, and he spent the entire drive back to the resort doing his best to crack Dean’s resolve. Or possibly make Dean drive them both into a ditch: it was a toss up.

Between Sam’s hand in his lap and Sam’s mouth whispering filthy, lewd things in his ear, Dean was a heartbeat away from coming in his pants by the time he pulled up in front of their building. He tore himself out of his brother’s grip and stumbled from the car, ignoring the snort of laughter from behind him.

Sprinting up the steps, he opened the door and darted to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, and had his pants down and his hand on his dick before Sam had even made it inside.

When he’d relieved the tension, Dean dropped his forehead against a convenient wall and stared down at the tiled floor. He was gonna have to kill Sam, that was all there was to it. He wasn’t wearing the shirt, and if Sam kept this up much longer he wasn’t holding out for three more minutes, let alone three _days_.

Gritting his teeth together, Dean turned around to splash some cool water on his face and then paused as his eyes caught on his swim trunks, which were hanging on the towel rack. His lips spread in a slow smile and he chuckled to himself as he stripped his shirt off and reached for the trunks.

Sam may have led him on a pretty good chase, but the kid did _not_ know whom he was messing with. Now that Dean had had some time to adjust to everything, he’d have this whole shirt problem fixed by sundown. And maybe he’d get a little payback for the way his brother had been stringing him along these past few days.

When Dean finally emerged from the bathroom wearing the swim trunks, he found Sam sprawled out on the bed. His brother was mostly naked, and there was a tube of lube and a condom lying next to him.

Dean gave him a level look. “Yeah, you _think_ so,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Sam smirked, running a lazy hand down his stomach. “Afraid you won’t be able to get it up so soon?”

Ignoring the taunt, Dean headed for the porch door, which led out onto the beach. “I’m going for a swim. You can come if you want.”

“How about _you_ come when _I_ want?” Sam called after him.

Certain that Sam couldn’t see him, Dean grinned as he headed down to the shore.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He was shooting the shit with some of the other vacationers when Sam finally emerged wearing his own swim trunks. There were a bunch of them out today, which was perfect for what Dean had in mind. He waved to a Mrs. Hannah, a sixty three-year-old widower from Tennessee who thought Dean was ‘cute as a button’, as Sam splashed up next to him.

“I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show,” Dean said.

“Had to take care of something first.”

Dean let his eyes drop toward his brother’s crotch for a moment. “I’ll bet,” he said, leering.

Taking that as an invitation, Sam brightened and reached for him. Dean let the current shift him away.

“Come on, man,” Sam moaned, lunging after him. Dean easily avoided his brother, turning them and leading Sam out into deeper water.

“Hey, you remember when you asked me yesterday how come I can hold my breath so long?” he asked as he dodged another of Sam’s energetic attempts to tackle him.

Distracted, Sam paused. “Yeah, I meant to ask you last night, but, uh, I was a little nervous. Totally forgot.”

Yeah, Sam had probably been real nervous the entire week while he was busy toying with Dean. That’s why he almost pissed his pants laughing over that strip poker stunt. Dean moved them further out past the waves so that they were both treading water.

Following, Sam prompted, “So how did you learn to do that?”

“Dad and I hit this string of water hunts after you went to Stanford,” Dean told his brother, swimming around him in lazy, shark-like circles. “After the second one, he called up this old buddy of his from Nam who was in the SEALS. We took a few months off and went to his place for some training.”

“A SEAL?” Sam said, sounding impressed.

“Yup. That’s how come I can hold my breath for so long.” Dean eyed the distance between himself and his brother, lining up the best angle of attack. “It’s also why I can swim rings around you.”

He watched as his brother realized just what kind of position he’d put himself in. Sam glanced from the shore to Dean and then back again, slow suspicion dawning on his face.

“Dean ...” he said in warning.

“What?” Dean returned innocently, edging closer.

Sam narrowed his eyes and then kicked off for the beach in a spray of water.

Ducking below the surface, Dean shot forward and tackled his brother around the waist. Sam twisted, trying to shove him off. On land, he would have gotten free in a few seconds with his larger frame and weight. Water, however, was a great equalizer, and Dean was the better swimmer. When he finally let his brother go, Dean had Sam’s swim trunks dangling from one hand.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered, glancing at the crowd of tourists enjoying their day at the beach. “Stop fooling around, man.” He made a grab for the trunks and Dean ducked under again, swimming for shore.

When he came up for air on the other side of the wave line, Sam shouted at him again. “ _Dean!_ ”

Dean grinned at the family of four _(mom, dad, and two little girls in matching swimsuits)_ just heading into the ocean. “Water’s great today, isn’t it?” he said pleasantly.

“This isn’t funny!” Sam yelled.

Dean strolled up onto the beach before turning around to call, “Shirt for trunks!”

Sam’s face immediately twisted into a stubborn scowl. “No!” he shouted, and then splashed to the right with a look of alarm as the girls came a little too close for comfort.

“Suit yourself,” Dean said, and then headed back to their room to enjoy his revenge in comfort.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean was lounging in the hot tub when Sam finally came slinking back up the beach in the deepening twilight. His brother’s face was lined with exhausted annoyance, and Dean felt a stab of pity despite his firm belief that Sam had gotten what was coming to him.

“Hey,” he said.

Sam straightened, trying his best to look dignified while holding an oversized palm frond in front of his crotch. “Hey,” he returned stiffly.

Dean moved across the tub to lean on the edge where his brother was dripping seawater onto the deck. “Have fun swimming?” he asked.

“About as much as you’re gonna have wearing that shirt for the next two weeks,” Sam growled, and then went to storm into the room. Dean surged up out of the water, one knee on the edge of the hot tub, and grabbed his waist.

“Come here,” he invited, tugging.

Sam frowned and pushed at his hands. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Come on, man,” Dean urged, pulling harder. “Truce, okay?”

Sam resisted for a moment longer and then sighed. “Truce.”

“Awesome. Now get in here.”

“Dean, I think I’ve had enough water for one—”

“You’ll like this. Trust me.”

“That never ends well,” Sam said, but he was smiling, and he climbed into the tub without any more urging. “Water’s a little cold for a jacuzzi, isn’t it?”

“I turned the temperature down on the thermostat.” Dean moved back to give his brother room and waited until he was settled in one of the seats.

Letting his head drop back against the side wearily, Sam asked, “Why?”

Dean was tempted to forget the plan and mark up that long line of tanned throat, but he had all night to get around to that, and Sam was only gonna stay in the water for so long. So instead he grinned and said, “So I don’t boil myself alive while I’m blowing you.”

Sam’s head snapped back up. “What?”

Holding his brother’s gaze, Dean took a long, slow breath and then ducked under the water. He wasn’t gonna open his eyes in here—he’d turned the temp way down, but it was still too hot for that—but locating Sam’s knee was easy enough, and from there he could feel his way north to his destination. It helped that, no matter how tired he’d been a moment ago, his brother was obviously interested in what Dean was offering.

He pressed his lips to the tip of Sam’s dick in a light kiss, and then inched forward, letting them part around that smooth flesh. It had been a while since he’d done this particular trick, and a little water spilled into his mouth before he remembered the right amount of pressure to use. From the way Sam’s cock twitched, though, Dean figured he was doing a decent job of it.

He inched forward until he had as much as he could comfortably hold inside his mouth and then hollowed his cheeks, running his tongue along the thick vein on the bottom. When he had a good rhythm going, he started to suck, working Sam’s cock like it was one of those rocket pops Caleb used to buy them when they were kids.

Although Dean wished he could hear the sounds that he was dragging out of his brother’s throat, he had no trouble keeping track of how good it felt by the way that Sam’s thighs clenched under his hands. Kid was trying to be a gentleman and not thrust. Dean could’ve told him not to bother, but he sort of had his mouth full right now, and besides: underwater.

Readjusting his grip on Sam's thighs, Dean rubbed gentle, soothing circles into his skin. _Come on, come on,_ he thought. _Just do it already._ He hummed to himself impatiently and then decided to keep it up when Sam’s cock gave a happy little jump at the vibration. Dean was beginning to think he'd have to resurface and tell Sam to stop being a little bitch and get down to business, but then he gave a particularly slow twist of his tongue around the soft skin in his mouth, and his brother finally got with the program.

Sam’s hands came down and gripped Dean’s hair as best they could, and he started moving. Dean relaxed his throat and let his brother push in deeper, barely feeling the mild pain as Sam’s hold tightened. He was too busy concentrating on keeping his mouth warm and tight and wet: too busy enjoying the feeling of Sam’s cock buried in his throat.

It had been so goddamned long since Dean had trusted someone enough to surrender control on a blowjob like this, and even then there had always been a steady thrum of nerves running through him: a nagging worry that they’d push too hard or too deep without worrying about whether or not he was getting anything out of it. For the first time, letting go felt right. Felt good.

In less time than Dean would have expected, Sam’s rhythm faltered and his hands stopped holding down and started pulling up. Since he’d been down longer than this when they were snorkeling, Dean figured it wasn’t because his brother was concerned about him drowning. He dug the fingers of his right hand into Sam’s thigh and reached up with his left to grab his brother’s wrist. As Dean rubbed his thumb across Sam’s pulse, his brother got the message and stilled his insistent hands.

Three more particularly needy thrusts and Sam’s cock pulsed in his mouth. He tasted like the ocean, warm and salt-slick on Dean’s tongue. Dean hadn’t thought that anything could be better than that coconut-sweet kiss they’d shared last night, but somehow this managed it. It wasn’t a taste thing so much as it was the knowledge that Sam wanted this—that he had made Sam come with his mouth and tongue alone.

Dean moaned around his brother’s cock, sucking and swallowing as best he could with his concentration going to hell. Now he understood Sam’s reluctance to let him go when their positions were reversed. This was some addictive shit. Still, if he didn’t come up for air soon, he was either gonna drown or suffocate, which would really kill the mood.

With one last lick, Dean pulled off and pushed himself back above the surface. Scrubbing the water from his face with one hand, he gasped a deep breath in. Sam was draped laxly against the side of the tub with an expression of stunned bliss on his face. Yeah, they were definitely gonna have to do this again when Dean could actually _watch_ his brother fall apart.

“I’m awesome,” he announced. His voice was a little hoarse, but that wasn’t a huge surprise, considering.

Sam focused on him with difficulty. Reaching out with one oversized hand, he gripped Dean’s shoulder and yanked him in for a kiss. When he was done having his way _(again)_ with Dean’s mouth, he said, “We’re getting a hot tub for the Impala.”

“You wish,” Dean laughed. Maneuvering himself around so that he was sitting next to his brother, he put his arm up on the edge and trailed his fingers across Sam’s shoulder.

Behind them, the sun was just dropping below the horizon, leaving the porch in comfortable shadow. Some kind of tropical insect or night bird was making itself known, and in the distance Dean could hear a party going on up at the Plantation House where Rebecca had held her reception. He couldn’t, despite the hard on he was nursing and the mild ache in his jaw, think of a time when he’d ever been this contented.

When he was pretty sure that Sam would be able to make it to the bed, Dean asked, “So, you up for round two?”

Sam just looked at him, eyes hooded and lazy. A small smile played about his lips.

Dean grinned back and climbed out of the tub. He shook his head, spraying water everywhere like a dog, and then pulled off his swim trunks. Dropping them in a sodden pile on the porch next to Sam’s abandoned frond, he padded into the room.

For a few moments, he debated drying off before getting into the bed and then decided not to bother. They were going to have to change the sheets later anyway. Crawling onto the bed, he flopped over onto his back. When he looked over at the doorway, his brother was standing there, looking unexpectedly shy and hesitant.

“Dean, you don’t—” Sam ducked his head a little, using one hand to smooth back his wet hair. “You don’t have to wear the shirt if you don’t want to, and if you were—you know, before, when you said you didn’t. If you want I can—”

Dean leaned over and grabbed the lube off the nightstand. Then, tossing it across the room to his brother, he lay back again and put his arms behind his head. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

It was a goddamned miracle. For once, Sam actually did what he was told.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Sam wouldn’t stop smiling at him the next morning.

“Dude, _stop_. People are staring.”

Sam’s smile widened.

“I didn’t have any other clean clothes,” Dean tried again, more than a little embarrassed now.

Sam kissed him. Kissed him right in the middle of the freaking restaurant. With tongue and hands and yanking Dean half out of his seat and everything.

When Sam finally let him up for air, Dean said, intelligibly, “Ngh.”

Sam just grinned at him and ran his fingers across Dean’s collar. “You look good in blue.”


End file.
